The Four Princesses of Illyria
by Areida Rivers
Summary: Ivy, Dinah, Abby & Sophie have always lived in the safety of their family's love, but invading barbarians threaten to tear apart their lives. Now the sisters must endure a father's absence, a mother's illness, & ultimately rescue their family & nation.
1. I

**The Four Princesses of Illyria**

**A Novel**

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_**Sophie**_

Until I was eleven, I thought we were untouchable. I was Princess Sophia Lucille Nicolav Bartlett, the youngest daughter of King Donovan Marcellus Bartlett II, supreme ruler of Illyria, the greatest kingdom in the world, and Queen Charlotte Andrea Nikolav Bartlett, born and bred a princess in Critland, a small, powerful country in the west.

My older sisters were beautiful, intelligent, ambitious. We were gifted children. Separately, we were impressive; together, we were unstoppable.

Then, disaster struck. It was the end, I thought.

Nothing could be the same ever again. We would never live in quiet harmony again—just the six of us: father, mother, Ivy, Dinah, Abby, and me. Everything would have to be different, and in my mind, that was the worst part of all.

_**Ivy**_

The messenger boy collapsed outside the castle gate just as the last of the five tolls sounded from the clock in the courtyard. The sentry might not have ever seen the boy from his position atop the rampart, had it not been for the sergeant walking the perimeter of the castle. Or rather, the young woman walking beside the sergeant.

I heard the boy before I saw him. I stopped walking. "Julian, do you hear that?" Squinting in the morning mist, I turned away from Julian as my eyes sought to match the sound with its source.

"Attempting to distract me will not do you any good."

I felt his fingertips brush mine, but I pulled away. "No, listen."

"Ivy—"

"_Stop_ _talking and listen_."

"I don't hear anything."

I could hear the irritation in his voice, but there was no time to reassure him. I held up a hand, ears straining… My head snapped to the side. "It's coming from over there."

I set off before he could hold me back, cloak dragging in the long grass that grew outside the castle walls.

I could hear someone gasping for air, so out of breath that it sounded like he was ready to collapse at any moment. The footfalls were irregular; they belonged to someone who has been running so long that his legs have gone numb. Then: the cry of pain, the fall, the ragged, desperate breaths.

I dropped to my knees, mindless of the dew seeping into the trousers my mother hated and my sisters disapproved of. I turned the boy over onto his back, feeling first his ankles and then his knees to see if he had been injured.

I spoke firmly, "That's it, keep on breathing. Stop that crying, now, you haven't hurt yourself."

Beside me, Julian dropped to one knee. "Ivy. Look."

He pointed, and I saw what I had missed before, hidden beneath a layer of mud made fresh by the dew. The boy wore the Illyrian crest, and tucked inside his breeches was a thin, wooden box used by royal messengers to carry missives that had far to go.

I tried to pull him into an upright position, but he was taller than me, and too exhausted to help me. The boy's breathing rattled in his chest as he fell back to the ground.

"Julian, pull him up," I commanded.

Julian reached out, then withdrew. "He's bleeding."

"And you are frightened of bloodshed?" I snapped, frustrated. He was a soldier, the same as me; why was he being so difficult? "I'll do it myself," I said under my breath, and grasped the boy's arm to try and pull him up again. Julian stayed my hand.

"Question him from there. He will catch his breath faster lying down."

I tore a strip of cloth from my trousers and wrapped it around the wound on the messenger's arm. "It doesn't look serious."

The boy gave a choked sob and gasped something out.

"Slow down," Julian said. "Don't rush yourself."

My ministrations softened. "Take a breath and tell us what you know."

The boy closed his eyes, and tears streaked a path on his dirty face. "The king," he gasped. "I must see…"

I wound the makeshift bandage around his slender arm a final time and began to fasten it in place. "The only person you're in condition to see is the cook. What a scrawny thing you are." I frowned as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Was I going to baby the child now?

The boy's eyes flew open, and through the sobs Julian and I understood what he said the first time. "Paduans—at the northern border."

My hand jerked violently and fell from the bandage. I could feel Julian tense beside me, and my hands were unsteady as I knotted the cloth above the messenger's elbow.

"Were you followed?" Julian asked.

The boy began coughing hard.

"_Were you followed_?" Julian repeated, more insistently.

"No," the boy managed to say, and I released the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"We have to get him inside," I said, and Julian nodded, reaching out to scoop him up.

The messenger resisted, and I took hold of his chin firmly. "Look at me." He did, and I was shaken by the fear I saw in his eyes. He was swallowing over and over, trying to force down his tears. "I will get you to the king. Trust me."

After a moment he gave a weak nod and Julian lifted him at once, striding for the hidden door he and I had used as an exit. It was then that the sentry called out to us, and I raised my hand in a traditional Illyrian greeting before identifying us.

"Come in this way," the man called, and gestured impatiently to the younger man beside him. He opened the small entrance beside the main gate and I hurried inside, followed by Julian carrying the slender messenger boy.

The older sentry had come down the steps from the rampart to the courtyard, but stopped short when he saw the mud-covered, coughing, wheezing, shaking boy. "Father preserve us…"

"Where is King Donovan?" I asked.

The man's eyes were fixed on the boy in Julian's arms. "I—I ain't seen him yet this morning—he didn't go out for his usual ride—"

I turned on the younger sentry. "You—do you know where the king is?"

He shook his head hard. "No, he hasn't been out in this area yet today."

I whirled around, trying to catch a glimpse of the clock that stood tall in the courtyard. "The throne room," I said, and before the bewildered and frightened sentries could deduce anything further about the situation, we had set off in a run for the castle's central room.

We splattered mud on tapestries as we streaked past, and I left a smear of dirt on the wall as I grasped it to swing myself around a corner. Cloaks billowed out behind us, and footsteps pounded black muck onto the ancient stone and long rugs of the corridors. One of the throne room's doors was wide open; the other was only ajar. I shoved it open and Julian hurried ahead of me, bearing the boy in his arms.

King Donovan Marcellus Bartlett II lifted his head at the commotion. Several of the advisors gathered around him gasped, though I suspected that one of them only did so because these throne room intruders were walking mud repositories.

I spoke without preface. "We encountered him near the large oak at the south entrance. He bears the messenger's box with the Illyrian crest. The Paduans are invading in the north."

The king stepped down from the raised platform where he stood with his advisors, his dark eyes serious. "Are you certain?"

I shook my head. "No, but that is all he was able to say. We believed it was enough to bring him directly to you."

The advisor called Wardinsky spoke up. "He should be removed from the castle at once, sire. If what he says is true, his presence is a threat."

"He said was not followed," Julian said. "And we scanned the area, but it is not yet light and the boy does not have his wits about him."

"I do, I do," the boy cried out. "Let me stand, I beg you—I must see the king!"

Donovan nodded, and Julian lowered the boy cautiously to the ground. He stood with unsteady legs, and I stepped closer to him to support his weight from one side.

"I am he. Deliver your message."

The boy collapsed before Julian or I could stop him, laying his hands over the king's feet. "Your majesty," he said, his voice shaking. "The Paduans have crossed into our northern border taken the stronghold at the Raymdan River. It happened too fast for us to stop them. I rode—" Here he coughed, and Julian tried to help him to his feet, but the boy waved his help away.

"I rode for four days as fast as I could, but my horse soon tired and I took the rest of the journey on foot. I came as swiftly as my feet would carry me, but sire, I fear that they have come farther south, to the capital, to burn our villages just as they burnt the towns along the Raymdan."

One of the advisors stumbled backward to sit. I stole a sideways glance at his wrinkled face and felt a flash of pity for the man; his sister lived in one of those towns.

"Look at me, boy," Donovan said.

The boy raised his dirty, tear-stained face. "I failed you, majesty," he groaned. "Forgive me."

Donovan lifted him up and clapped him on the shoulder. "You have served Illyria with more determination than I have seen in many years, young man. You have no cause to feel shame."

"Thank you, sire," the boy murmured, looking overcome as he handed the thin box to the king, palms raised.

Donovan gestured to one of the advisors. "Take him to the infirmary." He looked back to the boy. "You look ready to collapse. Please take a few hours' rest and then you may return if that is what you wish."

The boy gave a nod and followed the advisor from the throne room.

Silence pressed heavily on us. The silence extended until I heard a single drop fall from my cloak and land on the floor. I glanced at Julian, who stood much straighter and wore a much more serious expression here in the throne room than he had when we met for our walk earlier that morning. He didn't look at me.

"Ivy, please see to your appearance."

I looked away from Julian and met the dark eyes of the king. "My place is here."

"Not after what happened this morning," he answered, and I knew he wasn't just referring to the bad tidings borne by the messenger.

"Father—"

"You may return when you are presentable." His tone brooked no argument.

My face flushed with anger and embarrassment, and I stared defiantly at Julian, waiting for him to request that I stay. I could help—he knew I could help. But no, he was straight-faced, his hands behind his back, standing at respectful attention in the presence of his king. Coward.

Disgusted, I turned on my heel. My dark braid, heavy with dew, struck Julian in the chest as I strode from the room. I heard their tense voices resume talk as I exited, Julian's voice answering my father's questions in a crisp, respectful tone.

Ignoring the order to clean myself up—I assumed it was mostly in reference to the trousers my mother so desperately disapproved of—I ran to the east wing of the castle to find my mother and wake my younger sisters. This would not be a morning soon forgotten in Illyria.


	2. II

_**Dinah**_

I woke suddenly. Confused, I tried to separate dream from reality as I watched Ivy strip off a cloak drenched in mud, then step out of ripped trousers even dirtier than the cloak.

I remembered poring over a book with Ivy until our candle had sputtered out, then we had climbed into Ivy's bed and talked until I fell asleep. Ivy always managed to stay awake the longest. I envied her for that.

I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "Ivy…what are you doing?" My sister sometimes woke me after an early morning walk, but never in such a state of utter disarray.

"The Paduans," Ivy muttered, looking around the room.

I pushed the blankets aside, shivered in the morning chill, and pulled them back over my legs. I, unlike Ivy, took a few minutes, sometimes hours, to fully wake in the mornings, and nothing was coming together in any sort of coherent order. "What?"

Ivy pulled the tie from her hair and began to re-braid her dark locks. "Julian and I were walking this morning—"  
"Again?"

"Yes, again. But more importantly—"

"I thought you were worried about giving him the wrong impression."

"I was, but this morning—"

"Ivy, you know he's in love with you. If you don't feel the same way, you shouldn't be spending time alone with him."

"Dinah—"

"In fact, you shouldn't be spending time with him alone at all. You know Mother doesn't approve, and even if Papa doesn't comment, he doesn't either. You should have Master Flynn chaperone. He would allow you to go where you pleased, though you would have to give up those ragged trousers and wear something proper for a change—"

"Dinah, the Paduans have invaded."

I blinked. "What?"

"Julian and I found a messenger boy this morning. He looked half-dead, and barely managed to tell us what he'd seen."

"Are you sure?"

Ivy nodded. "He wore the Illyrian crest. And his report…" She shook her head. "It was too authentic to be fabricated."

I gathered a mass of blankets to my chest, hugging them tightly. I was the tallest of the four princesses, but now I felt very small and vulnerable. I stared down at the blankets, avoiding Ivy's gaze. "Papa will leave again."

Ivy pulled on a pair of clean, fur-lined boots. "Has he a choice?"

"His men are competent. He shouldn't have to go."

Ivy rose and reached for a gown she'd left hanging over the back of a chair. "He would go whether he had to or not. You know he prefers foreign to domestic affairs. Mother handles much of what he considers dull. He won't be able to go on too many more long campaigns."

"Good," I said. My voice dropped. "I hate it when he leaves."

"I wish I could go with him."

"Ivy!"

"I do! He hasn't taken me on a campaign since I was twelve. Then I started 'developing', as Mother calls it, and I haven't been allowed to go any farther than the outskirts of the castle. I would give anything to go with him on this campaign. This isn't a diplomatic mission. This is going to be a real war."

I shivered—from both the cold and the fear of my sister's soldierly ambitions. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that."

Ivy pulled the gown over her head and moved to where I still sat on her bed. "Lace me. It's not as though I speak of it like it would be a relaxed jaunt to see some mountains. I want to see the places in the books you like you so much. I want to do something other than marry and bear children. I want to be a part of something great, Dinah. I want to—ugh, must you lace it so tight?"

"Tightly," I corrected.

"Fine, tightly," Ivy said irritably. "Please loosen it."

I bit down on my lower lip and did as she asked. Ivy turned to face me.

"Do I pass inspection?" she asked.

I climbed out of bed and tucked an errant strand back into her loose braid. "Only if Mama doesn't see you."

"She won't."

"You should fix your hair."

Ivy's frown made her appear younger than her nineteen years. "I hate dressing my hair."

"I'll do it for you. Sit."

"I have to get back to the throne room."

I moved my sister firmly toward the dressing table. "If Papa saw you in the state you were in when you woke me, then you'll want to stay clear of him for a while, and return only when you look unquestionably female. Let me braid your hair." I pressed my toes into the back of my calf to warm them.

Ivy complied without comment, but released impatient sighs every few moments, until I finally told her to hush.

"I'm nearly finished."

A shriek in the hallway turned our heads to the doorway, and Ivy had moved there before I could force her to sit still. It was fortunate she had not reached out to open it yet, for it came flying open at that moment as the younger half of the princesses burst into the room.

"Give it back, Abby!"

"I warned you!"

"He's mine!"

"Then why was it in my bed?"

"_He_ likes it there."

"He's about to lose his floppy head."

"No! Dinah! Make her stop!"

Ivy and I exchanged a look before Ivy moved to close the door to her bedroom. The two younger girls were darting around Ivy's bed. Abby, our second-to-youngest sister, clutched a stuffed giraffe by the neck, waving it tauntingly in front of Sophie, the baby of the family.

Ivy shook her head. "I don't have time for this," she muttered, and began pacing.

I snatched the giraffe from Abby's fingers.

Abby turned her dark-eyed glare on me. "I warned her twice. I don't want her freak animals in my bed."

"They're not freaks!" Sophie cried. "They're part of the family!"

"No wonder they fit so well in your room."

"Hush, Abby. Sophie, stop whining." I handed the animal to Sophie, who held it protectively against her chest, and pressed a kiss to its nose.

The play giraffe had been given to her by a visiting African emissary the year before. It had large, black eyes with long eyelashes, and its soft insides were covered by a real giraffe pelt. That detail had of course been omitted when it was given to Sophie. She would have been inconsolable if she knew that her giraffe—christened "Edgar"—lived only because something else had died.

"Sophie, go sit on Ivy's bed. Abby, don't even think about it." I raised a warning finger as Abby reached for a pillow, presumably to be used as a weapon against Sophie.

Sophie clambered onto the bed, nuzzled Edgar with her cheek, and gave a wounded little sniff. Abby rolled her eyes.

"Let me finish your hair," I said to Ivy.

Ivy looked as though she'd rather eat one of the tapestries on her bedroom chamber walls, but she reclaimed her seat at her dressing table.

Sophie chattered while I wove Ivy's hair into a simple bun at the base of her neck, tucking away all the errant strands. I pulled her hands away for a moment, studied the result, then slipped in a small, jeweled hair ornament.

I rested my hand on Ivy's shoulder. "Finished."

Ivy shifted in her seat and raised her head to look at me. Neither one of us said anything for a moment.

"Does Mother know?" I asked softly.

Ivy shook her head. "No. I'm going to tell her now." She rose.

"What's going on?" Abby asked. She was leaning on Ivy's bedpost, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Nothing," I said at the same time as Ivy, who said,

"The Paduans."

Abby dropped her arms and stood up straighter. "What happened?"

I didn't want her to, but Ivy explained briefly anyway. Seeing Abby's brow furrow and Sophie's eyes widen, I was careful to add in such reassuring comments as, "But Father will take care of it," and "Papa and his councilors are already at work," and "We're well out of harm's way here."

"Is Papa going away?" Sophie asked. Her voice sounded rather higher than usual.

I joined her on the bed, wrapping my arms around her. "We'll see," I said vaguely. "You can even ask him yourself, at breakfast. All right?"

Sophie nodded and dropped Edgar on the bed, snuggling further into my embrace. I held her tightly, more for my sake than for hers.

But Papa wasn't at breakfast. After informing Mama of the situation, Ivy had immediately returned to the throne room, only to be denied admittance. She tried bribing, threatening, begging, and even tricking the guards into letting her in, but to no avail; his Majesty had left very specific instructions.

She stormed into the gardens, where Sophie and Abby were trying to persuade me to join in with their snowball fight.

"There isn't enough snow," I said stubbornly. "My fingers get too cold when I have to hold for ages just to make one ball."

"Please, Dinah?" Sophie pleaded. "_Please_?"

"I'll play," Ivy said as she approached us.

Abby frowned. "What are you doing out here? I thought you were going to join Father and the others."

"I was." Ivy squatted down and began to pack a snowball.

"Where's Julian?" Abby asked.

"In the throne room," Ivy said bitterly.

"Why aren't you—"

"Because I'm not, all right? Are we going to play or not?"

Abby shrugged. "Fine, fine. Don't get your knickers in a twist. Or are you wearing a gown now?"

Ivy's snowball smashed into her arm.

Abby, Sophie, and I were squealing and running and laughing as we hurled hastily packed snowballs at one another, but Ivy's jaw was tight, and her missiles reached their marks with a little more power than was really needed. The game was over when Sophie got dirt in her eyes.

She screamed and fell to the ground, covering her face.

I was in the middle of packing a snowball, but dropped it immediately and ran to her.

Abby glanced down at the snowball in her hand. She considered it momentarily, then shrugged and threw it at Ivy, who had been lost in her own thoughts all day.

She spun around. "Don't touch me," Ivy snapped.

"Sophie's fit doesn't mandate a standstill."

"And your childish whims don't excuse cheating."

"One snowball is hardly cheating."

"Why are you being so _difficult_?" The last word came out half scream, half growl. Ivy flung her half-packed snowball to the ground.

"Would you two stop it?" I cried from the ground, where I knelt beside Sophie. "Sophie, please be still. I can't see."

"It hurts," Sophie wailed. "It's hurting my eyes!" She tried to move my hands away with little, ineffective slaps. "Let me go! Stop it—it's in my eyes!"

"Put your hands down so I can see."

"No!"

"Sophie—"

"I want Papa!"

"Let me look at your eye."

"_No!_"

The shrill scream reverberated off the wall of the castle behind them and went echoing down into the valley below. It fell beyond the garden, and rang in our ears. Other than Sophie's sobs, the garden was quiet.

Ivy sank down onto a bench nearby. "Oh God," she murmured. "We're all going mad and nothing's even been announced."

I reached out and lowered Sophie's hands. "Let me see, darling," I said, as calmly as I could. "Come on. Good girl. Let me just have a quick look."

Sophie's hysterical weeping subsided to pathetic little sniffles as I knocked a piece of dirt from her red-rimmed eyes. She collapsed into my arms.

I was tense as I stroked Sophie's light brown hair. "Shhh. There now…you're all right."

I looked up to find that the mischievous glow had disappeared from Abby's eyes, and she now stood quietly, wide-eyed and serious. "Do you need me to send for anything?" she asked.

I shook my head, careful not to allow my surprise to show on my face. "No, she's fine." I glanced over at Ivy, who was flushed. She was staring at nothing, eyes unfocused.

"Let's go indoors," I said, and quietly herded my sisters back into the castle.

We spent the night together in my room. Ivy was silent, deep in thought, and Abby was uncharacteristically subdued, making only a few half-hearted jabs at us. Sophie didn't say much either, except to ask me to sing, or to brush her hair, or to tuck her in more tightly.

My lullaby faded into a hum when slow, steady breathing on either side told me that Abby and Sophie were fast asleep. I laid awake until the candle across the room finally flickered out. I expected Mama or Papa—or both—to come to us, to tell us everything was all right, that all this was just a misunderstanding and everything was perfectly all right.

It was the middle of the night before the exhaustion of keeping the peace all day finally won out, and I barely felt Ivy pull the blanket over my shoulder before I fell asleep. We didn't see either one of our parents again until the next morning at breakfast.

"Papa!" Sophie cried, and flung herself into his arms.

He caught her up and held her tightly. Her legs dangled several feet off the floor, and even though I thought Sophie was getting too old to be babied so, I half-wished _I_ were still small enough to curl up in my father's lap. But even thirteen-year-old Abby stood composed, so I, three years her senior, could hardly disgrace myself by letting them all know how frightened I was.

"Good morning, sweetheart." He set Sophie back on her feet, and kissed the top of her head.

"Girls, take your seats," Mama directed.

I bit down on my bottom lip as I watched my family sit down. Ivy's frown had become a permanent fixture on her face in the last day, and Abby was beginning to look sullen. I searched for signs of strain on my mother's dignified face, but saw nothing there that alerted me to further anxiousness. Papa looked tired, but nothing more. I began to relax.

The meal passed quietly. We said little, and the solemn atmosphere of the table was a contrast to the usual liveliness we enjoyed first thing each morning. None of us even commented when Mama and Papa offered polite apologies for their absence from their table the previous morning. Finally it seemed that Abby couldn't take any more.

She pushed her plate away and looked to the head of the table. "Father, are you going to the border?"

"Abby," I said softly. "Mother and Father will tell us what they want to, when it is a convenient time."

"I'm tired of waiting," Abby said peevishly. "Ivy's done nothing but mope since yesterday morning. You have dark circles and you're acting like you're ready to burst into tears at any moment. That would be the perfect invitation for Sophie, of course, who's not stopped crying and whining for a full day. Father, are you, or are you not, going away?"

Donovan sighed and pushed his chair away from the table. "I am."

My heart sank.

Sophie started crying. "Papa, I don't want you to leave."

Mama reached over and took her hand. "Sophia. Enough."

She wiped her eyes. "Do you really have to, Papa?" she asked. "Do you really, really have to go away?"

I was wondering the same thing.

He nodded. "I see no way around it."

"When?" It was the first time Ivy had spoken all morning.

Our father regarded her with a level gaze. "Two weeks hence."

Ivy hesitated. Then, "Take me with you."

"Ivy!"

"Mother, I'm sorry, but I can't bear to wait here while Father and Julian go off and take care of this issue."

To my great relief, Papa was already shaking his head.

Ivy left her seat and knelt at his side, clasping one of his hands in both of hers. "Please, _please_, take me with you. I'll do anything you ask me to. Don't leave me behind again, Father, please—"

"Ivy, get off the floor," Mother commanded

Father shook his head and held up a hand. "No, Charlotte, this must be dealt with."

Ivy dropped her head and kissed his hand. "I need to go with you. Please take me. I can fight just as well as any man, whether with bow and arrow or spear or broadsword or dagger. You know I can—you have seen me do it. You need me there."

I watched, transfixed by my sister's boldness.

"It pains me to see you thus," he said. "But the thought of you lying wounded, or God forbid, dead, somewhere in the North, at the hand of the Paduans, is more than I can bear. You must stay here."

"But—"

He raised his voice to interrupt Ivy's protests. "You must stay here and assist your mother and take care of your sisters."

Ivy looked up into his face. I saw it as her last appeal, and for one long, horrifying moment, I thought Father might actually say yes. But then he closed his eyes and shook his head.

Ivy rose and left the room without comment, ignoring Mother's calls for her to return.

"Let her go," the king said wearily. "She has borne much, and will continue to do so as long as the men and I are away."

Later, in the privacy of my room, I paced back and forth in front of my window, and wept. Papa _had _to change his mind. He could not go to ward off the invading Paduans; he had to stay here, and keep the family together.

I feared what would happen if he went, for it seemed that this news had torn apart my safe, comfortable world in only a few hours. I dared not imagine what would happen if those hours were to become days, weeks, months—even years.

I clasped my hands to my chest, head bowed, feet moving rapidly. "Please," I whispered. "Please keep us all together."


	3. III

_**Ivy**_

One week after Julian and I found the messenger boy outside the castle walls, I found myself at the training compound after a short hiatus. I had avoided Julian successfully all week, carefully timing my visits to the training compound to ensure I would not see him. Unfortunately, with all the preparations being made for the soldiers' departure, he had divided his time between the throne room and the compound, meaning there was hardly a moment I could come to train without him there.

From a cylindrical container, I withdrew a court sword, a light, flexible weapon.

I nodded to one of the nearby trainees, a tall, somewhat gawky sergeant, and he nodded in return and quickly retreated. I frowned.

It was common knowledge, then, that my pleas to accompany the troops to the border had fallen on deaf ears.

Fine. Now no one would pester me.

There was only an hour of daylight remaining, and already the air had begun to cool for the night, but I tossed my cloak aside, ignoring the patch of snow that one corner of it fell into and immediately began to soak in the moisture.

First: footwork.

_Advance. Lunge. Attack. Cross over retreat. _Again. _Advance. Lunge. Attack. Cross over retreat._ _Advance, lunge, attack, cross over retreat._

But while I'd come to train to find respite from men and women preparing to leave, and Julian in particular, I could hear his voice in my mind as I worked.

_Don't step down so hard, Ivy, you'll trip over your own feet._

_Advance, lunge, attack, cross over retreat._

_Good. Again._

_That's right. Adjust your grip._

_Advance, lunge, attack, cross over retreat._

I don't know how long I was about it before I realized that I wasn't just imagining him speaking; he _was _speaking.

"No Appel?" he asked.

Without looking at him, I stomped my foot. A new recruit was passing by, and flinched.

"Good," Julian said.

I straightened, pointing the sword toward his chest. "I hardly need your approval."

"Ivy."

I contemplated jabbing him with the court sword, but it would have been pointless. The weapon was used for training only, or for beginners' bouts.

I extended my arm when he moved closer. "Leave me alone."

"Ivy."

"No! Go back to your preparations. I'm busy."

"Ivy…"

"Oh, is that the only word you know? Ivy, my sweet, darling Ivy—I've had my fill of your endearments! If you loved me the way you claim to, you'd do something—you'd help me convince my father to let me come with the expedition."

"I'm only a lieutenant. Your father has a host of advisors and generals at his disposal."

"Yet because of your presence the morning we—we!—discovered the boy, he continues to allow you to sit in—to participate in!—otherwise private meetings, to ask your opinion, to truly listen to your advice."

He took a step. "I can't explain it any better than you. I just want to do my part."

"And I don't?"

"It's different for you."

"Different how? Because I am less capable?" My voice was growing louder; anyone nearby could hear, but I was past caring.

"Don't do this." He looked so sad that I hesitated, looked at him carefully, but then my anger flared at this display of weakness.

"Don't do this?" I repeated mockingly. "Do what, sergeant? Feel cheated that I am not allowed to fight, when I have trained just as long and as hard as any one of the soldiers my father is taking with him to Padua?"

He moved closer again.

"Stay—back—" I said through clenched teeth, poking him in the chest with the court sword. It bent nearly in half as he continued to move in.

"Just listen to me—"

"No!" I jerked the thin sword back and turned it, hitting Julian in the chest with the thin, dull blade, then flung the weapon aside as I stomped away. I tossed my head, and my braid swung around and hit him in the shoulder.

I headed for the armory. Once inside, I rummaged carelessly through a barrel of uniforms.

I heard Julian come in behind me.

"Ivy. What are you doing?"

I grabbed the helmet closest to me and jammed it onto my head. "I'm going. Even if I have to disguise myself and go as a private, I'm going."

He sighed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "And you don't think you'd be recognized?" He was looking pointedly at the long, dark braid that blocked the helmet from fitting properly and snaked down my back.

"Don't patronize me, _sergeant_." I turned away with a sneer, but Julian closed the distance between us with only a few strides and grabbed my wrist, pulling me to him.

"Julian," he said in a low voice. "My name is Julian."

My nose was mere inches from his, my fist clenched where he held it against his chest. I could feel both our hearts beating fast. A solitary bead of sweat slipped off my forehead and down my nose.

"And mine," I said, striving for great dignity in spite of his proximity and my ridiculous appearance, "Is Her Imperial Highness Ivy Asturias Marie Bartlett, Princess of Illyria."

"Ivy," he said, bringing me closer—if that were possible.

"'My lady' is passable."

"Ivy." Our noses bumped.

"Even a simple 'highness' would be better than—"

"Than what? My calling you by your name, the way I have for years? Why now, _Ivy_, have you deemed it inappropriate for us to be familiar? After all this time, why is it suddenly so disgraceful that I address you as I always have?"

"You know perfectly well _why_."

"Do I? Pray, elaborate."

"You, _sergeant_, have made overtures."

"Overtures," he repeated.

"Yes. Overtures. You have made your intentions clear."

He let go of my hand and slipped the helmet off my head, smoothing back the sweaty strands that had escaped my braid.

"When have I not?" he asked in that same low voice. My stomach dipped.

"Fine. But when have I not made my intentions just as clear to you?"

He ran his thumb over my cheekbone. "What intentions?"

"My intent to remain autonomous."

He laughed. "You've been listening to too many bitter old wives. Marriage is not the end of independence. Hasn't your parents' relationship taught you that?"

"Don't laugh at me."

"And why not? You need to be laughed at. It prevents your ego from blinding you entirely."

"You dare speak of my egotism? You who have risen so far in so short a time? You, who have—"

He kissed me.

The helmet in his hand pressed into my back as he drew me into him. My palm was pressed flat against his chest, half-resisting, half-yielding. His mouth was warm, lips slightly chapped.

I couldn't breathe.

He could promise that he wouldn't change after we were married, that we would still be the same as we always had been, but even in the middle of refusing yet another proposal, he was suffocating me. I pulled away without warning.

Frustration flashed in his eyes. Letting out his breath, he dug both hands into his shorn blonde hair. "Damn it, Ivy—_why_ are you always pushing me away?"

I spun around to face him. "Because I don't want to marry you! I don't want to marry anyone!"

"What _do_ you want, then?"

"For you to leave well enough alone!"

He almost smiled. "Besides that."

"Truly? I want to fight. I want to defend Illyria—and that is all."

He looked carefully at my face, blue eyes flickering across my features. "That's all?"

"That's all."

"So." His eyes lost their gleam. "So. You will live out your days as a warrior: always fighting, never at peace within or without. No children to hold and to love and to teach. No husband—no, no husband, that dangerous mingling of lover and friend in one person. You will have nothing at the end besides a rusty sword and a quiver of broken arrows. And then, you will die. Yes, even you, Imperial Highness Ivy Asturias Marie Bartlett, Princess of Illyria, will die—somewhere, some time, and you will be alone. You will die alone—the same way you chose to live your life."

"_Leave me alone_," I hissed.

"Stupid girl—can't you see that's the last thing I want to do? Ivy, what do I have to do to make you understand that I love you? That I'm not trying to steal your freedom?" He moved to stand before me, and cupped my face in his hands. "Ivy, just let me love you. Marry me. Be my wife. I never want to hurt you; I just want to be with you—always."

I jerked back. "Get away from me. I don't need you. I don't need anyone."

"Don't be a fool, Ivy."

The warning, the worry, the utter adoration of his gaze: it was too much. Backing away, I shook my head. "No. No, no, _no_. I don't want this. I don't want to marry you. And I _won't _marry you, no matter how many times you ask. Just leave, Julian. _Just leave_."

Furious at the tears that gathered in my eyes, I turned before he could see them and ran away, as swiftly as my legs would allow.

_**Abby**_

The weather was perfect the day that Father and his grand army left the castle for Padua. This seemed only to aggravate Ivy further, and I guessed she was imagining herself in armor, riding a stallion astride like a man, preparing to lead the army into battle. I noticed she seemed to be making a study of not looking at Julian.

Father made his farewells down the line formed by his five women.

Sophie was crying. As usual.

"I shall m-miss you terribly, Papa," she sobbed.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes; the soldiers were watching, and it would have been far too adolescent a gesture.

"You know I will miss you too, sweet Sophie," Father said to her. "Be a good girl, and help your mother and sisters."

"I will, Papa," she said. "I love you! I wish you wouldn't go." Then she flung her arms around him and I looked away, trying not to see her snot all over the front of his armor. The child had no sense whatsoever.

He stopped in front of me next, and I looked up at him. I had his eyes, but not his softness. He was too much a mix of a soldier, a poet, a diplomat, a lover. When I was grown, I would be a diplomat and tactician and not have to struggle with such contradictory ambitions.

"I wish you victory and a swift return," I said solemnly.

He looked at me for a long moment, then he nodded and leaned down to kiss my forehead. When he pulled back I feared for a moment he might shame us both by crying, but, thankfully, the moment passed.

"I love you, Abigail," he said, matching my tone of formality.

"I love you too, Father," I replied, and bowed my head respectfully.

He moved on to Dinah, and I bit down hard on my tongue to repress the shameful tears that welled up of their own accord. I swallowed hard, then looked at Dinah.

Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry, and she held her hands tightly in front of her. It was commonly held that she was the most beautiful of the princesses, with a smile ready for anyone. But in my eyes, her grief made her lovelier than ever. It tightened the plumpness of her cheeks and stole the color from her face, leaving her rosy instead of ruddy.

I watched her carefully. Emotions flashed across her face, and she swallowed audibly, clearly repressing tears. She looked up at our father.

"I don't know what to do without you, Papa," she whispered. Her lips barely moved. It was obvious she was trying to keep us from hearing.

I wondered if he would attempt to buoy her spirits with some hackneyed, generic response, but he surprised all of us—or at least he surprised Dinah and me.

He touched her hair. "Just be you, my darling Dinah."

She bit her bottom lip, and her dark lashes brushed against her cheeks as she closed her eyes momentarily.

"Your valor will bring you to destruction," she said.

I was shocked. Dinah _never _spoke that way to our father! To the king!

"The Achaeans will set upon you in a body and kill you. It would be better for me, should I lose you, to lie dead and buried, for I shall have nothing left to comfort me when you are gone, save only sorrow."

Ah. She was quoting to him—again. It seemed to me an odd game they played, to quote poetry to one another. It was terribly impractical, and a waste of time, to say the least.

"Have mercy upon me; stay here upon this wall; make not your child fatherless, and your wife a widow."

It may have been folly, this game they played, but I had to admit that my sister was charming nonetheless. The only trouble was that she looked pitiable as she stood before our father, and I never wanted to be pitied.

I cringed in embarrassment, hoping he would speak softly, when he answered her.

"I too have thought upon all this, but with what face should I look upon the Trojans, men or women, if I shirked battle like a coward? I cannot do so: I know nothing save to fight bravely in the forefront of the Trojan host and win renown alike for my father and myself."

Dinah took one of his hands in both of hers, and held it to her. "Papa," she said, and her voice cracked.

He shook his head. "Do not take these things too bitterly to heart. No one can hurry me down to Hades before my time, but if a man's hour is come, be he brave or be he coward, there is no escape for him when he has once been born."

Poets, I thought scornfully. What did poets have to teach us?

"I love you, Papa," she said.

"And I love you," he replied. He moved on to Ivy, who stared straight ahead as though she couldn't see him.

"Ivy," he said gently.

"Goodbye."

"You know I would take you with me if I could."

I could practically feel my mother raising her eyebrows in disapproval.

"Of course," Ivy responded coolly.

Father sighed. "I love you, Ivy, for the strong young woman you are."

She didn't respond.

I wondered why he waited. Naturally she was furious with him. I had no desire to go campaigning with him, but if he'd forbidden my visits to the senate or to his throne room, I would have acted the same way Ivy was now. He nodded, resigned, and moved on to his final goodbye.

Mother was resplendent in crimson, and I swelled with pride as I watched her bid Papa farewell. She was formal, but affectionate, having expressed her wifely worries and indulged in extended embraces the night before.

"Godspeed, husband," she said, and kissed him on both cheeks.

"I leave my heart in your keeping," he said to her, and, catching her hand in his, drew it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

Dinah and Sophie sighed on either side of me. I supposed they thought the sentiment terribly romantic. I found it absurd, and was glad when Mother corrected him.

"No, it must go with you. Your men need to follow a man with a heart full of courage, not a man who has left his heart at home with his wife."

He grinned—grinned! In full sight of the army and the courtiers and the crowd that had turned out to see them off—and laid her hand on his cheek. Her hand lingered there for a moment, then she stepped back and smiled, clear-eyed.

I stood straighter, bursting with pride. My mother was a queen, through and through.

_**Ivy**_

The king took his place at the head of the army. All the grand speeches had already been made—all that remained now was for him to leave, to leave me here in the castle in the dead of winter. My father thrust his fist into the air.

"For Illyria!" he shouted.

"For Illyria!" echoed the soldiers. The sound was deafening. I shut my eyes. They were really going to leave without me.

The crowd roared with approval, and I felt like I was dying. I was nineteen, three years older than the youngest men allowed to enlist, two years older than the women. I had been trained my whole life to fight—shown since I was a toddler how to hunt, to joust, to master the art of swordplay. While Dinah disappeared into ancient Greek and Roman poetry and Abby studied the art of diplomacy, I pored over endless volumes discussing strategy, valor, necessity—a warrior's books. I had learned from the best: from Thucydides the Greek, from Sun Tzu the Chinaman, from my father, the Illyrian—and still it was not enough. It was not enough that I had lived for this moment, when the finest young men and a few women were gathered together to ride out in the defense of our country. Still I was not permitted to go.

Not because I was a girl—but because I was a princess. My military training had been my right by birth, and now that same noble birth was going to bar me from fulfilling my destiny.

The injustice stung. I lifted my chin and looked out over the ranks as if I were bored by their grand assemblage. Inwardly, I longed to leap forward and shove the nearest one off his mount and go riding off to the north at the head of the finest army that had been assembled in Illyria in my lifetime.

I saw Julian break rank to ride past me. He inclined his head respectfully to my mother, and I swallowed to keep from spitting in his face.

"Princess Ivy," he said carefully.

Oh, certainly he was formal _now_. What happened to all those hours he wasted insisting we call one another Julian and Ivy? What about his ardency, his poignant declaration of love only days before?

I turned my gaze onto him, adopting my mother's queenly posture, lifting my chin haughtily. "Congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant," I said. "I am sure that you will show you have earned it on this campaign. They say it will be a long one."

He dismounted and stood so close that I could smell him. He smelled of the horse he had been riding, of the metal that covered his body, of impending danger and glory. How I longed to join him. I knew he wanted me with him, and still he would not speak on my behalf.

"Ivy," he began, his voice lower, more intimate, but my mother interrupted.

"This is hardly the time, Lieutenant," she said in an undertone.

He looked at her. "Please, Your Majesty," he said. "I just need…" He looked back at me.

"You need what?" my mother asked him.

His eyes met mine, and I felt a blush rising in my cheeks. He wanted to marry me. He'd told me so every time we'd been together for the last year, but never as ardently as his most recent proposal. I thought it was a nuisance, something that would pass. He was wonderful company when he wasn't trying to woo me or propose marriage. I was not going to be married for a long time yet—as I had told him on countless occasions—so he was only wasting his time by filling his head with pretty notions about me as a bride.

Julian cleared his throat and looked back at my mother. "May I have your permission to bid the Princess Ivy goodbye?"

"No," the queen replied.

Sophie let out a little gasp. Abby smirked.

"But you do have my permission to say farewell. Goodbyes are much too permanent, Lieutenant. I shall expect you to return alongside my husband. Do you understand?"

I could tell he was fighting back a grin. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Very good," my mother said, and gestured for him to stand before me.

"Farewell, Lieutenant," I said, hoping to hasten his departure.

"Farewell," he said, and in an impetuous, impertinent gesture, he took my hand and kissed it. Not like a knight playing at courtly love, but like a lover who is loath to bid his beloved farewell, no matter how short the separation. He raised his eyes to mine. "Ivy."

My name was like an embrace in his mouth, and for half an instant I believed he would sweep me up into his arms and demand we be married at once. But then he had released me and bid my sisters all a good day and fallen back into the ranks of the eager, boisterous soldiers.

Between the kiss and the murmuring of my name, he'd somehow managed to slip a ring onto my finger without my noticing. I slid it off behind my back and closed my fist around it. The cool, smooth metal pressed into my skin.

When I found him in the crowd, he was looking right at me, as though he'd known I would seek him out. I stared at him, schooling my features into an expression as cool and as impenetrable as stone.

"_Think about it_," he mouthed to me.

I felt a flicker of doubt, felt my resistance waver. He must have known, for he grinned broadly, and mimicking my father's earlier action, raised a new battle cry.

"For the Illyrian princesses!" he shouted.

The soldiers echoed his cry, and then the crowd, until their shouts overwhelmed all other noise on that cold, sunny morning. But when he looked at me, I knew what he meant.

It was for me. For me, Ivy—the princess of forbidden desires.


	4. IV

_**Sophie**_

I had never had less merry company in all my life. Even the gardeners and stable hands, who were normally so glad to see me, and practically leaped to do my bidding, didn't look happy when I came skipping down to the gardens or to the stables.

I tidied my room one afternoon, thinking that it would please my nurse, but she didn't even notice! And I did such a lovely job too. I worked like a servant to get my chambers so clean—like a common scullery maid! And still, nothing.

Mama was the same, only quieter. Abby was meaner. Ivy said nothing at all. Dinah was quieter, and wouldn't sing to me as often. She said she didn't feel like singing, but I didn't understand how anyone can not feel like singing if they had a voice as agreeable as hers. If I could sing like her, I should have sung all day long. Then maybe the castle would not have looked so gray all the time.

And it's not just that everything looked gray—it even _felt _gray. Of course I missed Papa and Julian and all the others, but their absence did not give us license to sink into the deepest of despairs! I resolved to tell this to everyone I encountered. It did not go as well as I had hoped.

"Dinah?"

"Mm."

She was reading again. She read often, certainly, but it seemed that since Papa left she did nothing but. I warned her that she would get nasty wrinkles around her eyes, but she didn't seem to care. My sisters baffled me at times. If I had a complexion as lovely as hers I'd take great care not to ruin it.

"Will you go out with me?"

"It's too cold, Sophie."

"Is not," I protested. "It's nice and sunny out."

"It's snowing."

"Even more perfect!"

She gave another noncommittal "hm," and turned the page in her book.

I sighed. Maybe I could try something else. A new tactic, as Ivy would say. She always thought in terms or warfare. Or Abby. She always thought in terms of strategy. Papa always said it was a good thing she wasn't interested in fighting in the same way as Ivy, or he would have the most bloodthirsty daughter in the world. I privately agreed, and said so too. Abigail was too smart for her own good.

"Dinah?"

"Mm."

"Have you ever been in love?"

It worked. She looked up.

"What?"

"I said, have you ever been in love?"

She stared at me for a moment, then narrowed her eyes slightly and looked back down. "No, of course not."

I was persistent. "Why not?"

"I never had time," she said absently.

I giggled. "Don't be silly, Dinah. You've had plenty of time, not to mention opportunities."

She frowned at me. "I have not."

"What about Master Flynn's son?"

"What about him?"

"He's handsome."

"So?"

"Do you like him?"

"Yes."

I squealed and pulled my legs up into the chair I was sitting on, hugging them to my chest. "Ooh, do you really? I'm so happy, Dinah—he's _terribly_ handsome."

"Not like _that_, goose. Now stop it so I can read."

"Oh, but Dinah, think of what lovely children you would have!"

"Sophie…" Her tone turned to one of warning.

I sighed, and rested my chin on my knees. "Oh all right, so he's not _that _handsome. Besides, he's blonde. You need someone with dark hair. Yours is so lovely that I would positively wail if you had blonde children. Wouldn't that be just terrible?"

"Tragic."

"_Dinah_, be serious."

She laughed and pushed her book away, pulling her legs up into her chair like me. Except she looked very nice when she did it, and not like a little girl. Of course, I was a little girl—everyone's favorite little girl—so I supposed it didn't matter much.

"You're asking me whether or not I've been in love and then trying to marry me off to our tutor's son, and you want _me_ to be serious? Sophie. Have you looked at poor Thomas Flynn lately? Or have you forgotten how old he is?"

I frowned. "Eighteen, right? Isn't he? A little short for eighteen, but that doesn't change his face any."

"He's fourteen." Dinah laughed again.

I wrinkled up my nose. "Oh. I was thinking of someone else, I suppose."

She raised a brow at me. "Who?"

I hugged my legs to my chest with glee. "That dashing captain. I know he's gone with Papa, but he'll be back eventually, won't he?"

"He's thirty-seven!"

"Well, that's not _so_ old, is it?"

"_Sophie_, really. I'm not going to marry someone twenty years older than me."

"I think he likes you," I said, and giggled.

She fixed me with one of her sterner looks. "He's married."

I frowned. "He is?"

Dinah laughed. "Oh, darling, you really are an oblivious little thing, aren't you?"

"Oh, probably," I said, and rocked back and forth happily. I wasn't sure what oblivious meant, exactly, but I guessed that it was good. I was everybody's favorite, after all.

"Tell you what," Dinah said, resting her arms on top of her knees. "When I fall in love, you'll be the first to know. Agreed?"

"Agreed! Oh, Dinah, will you _really_ tell me? As soon as you're sure?"

She laughed. "Yes, sweet, as soon as I'm certain, you will be the first one to hear the news."

I shook my head. "No, no, not when you're certain. I don't like that part. You're never certain of anything, besides your old books. I want to know as soon as you think you might possibly be in love."

"Sophie…"

"Please, Dinah?" I begged. "You're so pretty already. I can only imagine how lovely you'll be once you're in love. Women in love are always so much more beautiful."

"How would you know?" she asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"I just do," I said confidently. "Why do you think mother's so beautiful? Because she's in love with Papa of course, and the kingdom too. Just promise me you'll tell me as soon as you think you are. Promise?"

"Oh, all right."

"No, really promise."

"Sophie, come on, I want to finish this."

"No, you have to!" I dropped my legs and hopped out of my chair, coming around to Dinah's seat. I stuck out my hand. "Promise?"

Dinah sighed, hesitated, then took my hand. "I promise." We wove our fingers together (hers, mine, hers, mine) and then kissed the opposite sides of our hands, she on the pinkies, I on the thumbs. It had been our sisterly seal of commitment for my whole life. I wasn't about to let her think she could get out of it now.

She pulled away, and reclaimed her smelly old book, pulling it onto her lap as she lowered her legs.

I watched her for a moment. Then, "Dinah?"

"Mm."

"Can we go outside?"

"No, Sophie."

I groaned, and exited the library very dramatically. Clearly it had the desired effect, since Dinah looked up after I left. (I knew because I peeked back into the room after I had slammed the door with great enthusiasm. I was a very gifted and effective performer.)

I felt satisfied that I had given Dinah something to think about. Finding something to entertain me was going to be another matter entirely.


	5. V

_**Dinah**_

Mother wasn't doing well.

In the early days of Papa's absence, she had maintained her composure as always. After all, it wasn't as if he had never left before. He'd been on border patrols and diplomatic missions many times in my life.

Perhaps it was the lack of a date when he was supposed to be home. We had no way of knowing whether he would be gone only a few more weeks or if we wouldn't see him for a year. I hoped, of course, that he would come riding up the lane one day and never leave again, but I wasn't exactly holding my breath.

He'd seemed very final when he bid us goodbye. It wasn't anything he'd said, exactly, just a feeling I had, and couldn't seem to dismiss. I could still hear him repeating Homer's words to me. _Do not take these things too bitterly to heart._

I wasn't as bitter as Ivy, certainly, but she had more to be angry about than I did. I had no wish to fight for honor and glory. I just wanted my family alive, safe, happy, all in one place.

_No one can hurry me down to Hades before my time_He didn't know that. No one could know that—it was impossible. He could die before he even reached our borders, and it could be considered normal. The thought made my heart ache.

_If a man's hour is come, be he brave or be he coward, there is no escape for him when he has once been born._That's what it came down to, didn't it?

I tried to speak to Ivy, but she was beyond listening. I'd never seen her so angry in all my life.

"Did you feel it too, Ivy? I hate to say it, but it's almost like he knew he wasn't coming back. He didn't say anything. I didn't even notice it until he looked at Mother."

"I don't know, Dinah."

"Really, though. He smiled, but his eyes…"

"I didn't see."

"They were so sad." I shook my head. "I've never seen Papa's eyes so achingly sad."

I'd had to walk more quickly to keep up with her, and now she spun on her heel and stopped walking. I nearly ran into her.

"Dinah. Enough. For God's sake, enough."

I reached out to brush away a loose strand of hair that had fallen into her face. She jerked away. "_Stop. _Can't you see that it's killing me? That it's killing Mother? It's killing you too," she said, looking at me critically. "You're quiet as a mouse, and you never laugh or sing anymore."

"I haven't felt like it," I said quietly. "But you know I'm trying."

"We all are," she said.

"I know. And we just have to keep on trying until Papa comes home."

Ivy growled and clenched her fists. "That's not enough! Don't you see? Waiting and pretending that everything is going to be all right isn't good enough."

She began to pace. I watched her, uncertain. I feared that if I reached out to her she might began to scratch at me, clawing my face like some kind of wild animal. The tension in her frame was practically tangible.

"It's not enough," she said again tightly. "It's never enough. No matter what I do, what I say, how many times or how many ways I prove myself. It's _never enough._"

Finally, she slammed one of her fists against the stone wall, then hit it once more, softly. Her breath came in ragged spurts, and I could tell she was fighting tears.

Why did she want to leave so badly? I never wanted to leave. Here we were safe and loved, and princesses in every sense of the word, pampered and coddled and adored. Someday I'd have to grow up. I knew that. But for now, what was the hurry?

I crossed the hallway and drew her into my arms. I was a little surprised when she let me do it, even going so far as to rest her head on my shoulder. Her breath was hot on my neck, and she was shaking with anger and the efforts of repressing tears.

I murmured little nothings, hugging her tightly. God, I loved this sister of mine. Her pain hurt me, whether she knew that or not.

When she finally pulled away, the hardness was back in her eyes. I opened my mouth to ask her if she was all right, then closed it again quickly.

She seemed to know what I was going to ask, but she didn't ridicule me for it. Of course we weren't all right. Nothing had been all right since Papa had gone away.

Ivy straightened, holding her shoulders erect, and we looked at each other for a long moment. Then, with a curt nod, she walked off, and I knew that this encounter was not to be spoken of. I didn't really mind though; it was enough. Ivy never wanted to be seen as vulnerable, and she had allowed me to see her in a moment of weakness.

It was enough.

The next morning, Sophie and I went to see Mother. Sophie was excited. We'd gone to the kitchens and made some special cinnamon-flavored bread ourselves. Well, we'd had the expert help of the cooks of course, but there was still a touch of flour on Sophie's nose, and I didn't have the heart to brush it off, so excited was she about the new skill she'd learned that day.

I was a little nervous about going to visit Mother, since she'd been increasingly reclusive since Father's departure, and more easily angered.

Sometimes I sat in the throne room with Abby, and listened to the petitions of dignitaries and peasants alike.

Abby was fascinated by the whole affair. She studied facial expressions and gestures, guessing at hidden motives and trying to discover any possible hidden aspect of what could be going on inside the throne room. Sometimes she frowned so deeply, watching so intently, that I wondered if she was trying to see right into people's souls.

She never sat in the same place. "Familiarity breeds complacency," she said.

"I thought it was contempt," I said, lightly amused.

Abby's serious, dark eyes flicked away from me in irritation. "I'm always contemptuous. My position in the room makes no matter."

She was perceptive. At first we guessed the same things, and were wrong or right at the same time. But as she spent longer and longer periods of time observing people as they stood before our mother or father, petitioning their case, she was able to spot things that I missed, even if I was looking hard.

"He's lying," she told me once, in an undertone.

I frowned. "He sounds honest enough," I said.

Abby shook her head slightly. "Mm, he does, doesn't he? See that tick, right there? The corner of his eye."

I didn't at first, but after watching him for a few minutes longer, I could almost imagine that I did. "How can you even see that from this far away?"

Abby waved off my question. I suppose she figured I spoke in jest, as if the barely perceptible twitching at the corner of the man's eye was the most obvious thing in the world. "Watch him," she said.

I did. I didn't notice anything at first, but after a moment, I realized that whenever he stated widely-known facts, or things that were clearly truth, such as the weather, or when explaining a farming procedure, he appeared perfectly normal. Other times, when he cast blame, his eye twitched.

My slow intake of breath as I finally saw it seemed to please Abby, and she looked smug.

"That's amazing," I said softly.

"That's observation," she said haughtily, and turned back to watch some more, but I could tell that she was pleased.

Often I came just to see if I could see the things that my younger sister could. Sometimes I came and read, using the activity of the throne room as background noise. Other times I came to watch my parents at work.

Father had always been a passable diplomat, but I knew his true love lay in waging wars and fighting battles, in leading charges and coming out victorious over his enemy. My mother was the true diplomat of the kingdom, and was well-known throughout Illyria and the rest of the world as a brilliant, tough, but fair-minded negotiator, who always got what she wanted out of the deal, but managed to make you think that you had gotten what you wanted to. Or, if that wasn't possible, she made you feel like you had gotten a fair bargain, even if what you gained was less than you had originally planned for, or not what you had originally hoped for at all.

I didn't see how she did it. Day after day, month after month, year after year. Always negotiating and convincing and weaving a beautiful web of words so intricate and yet so strong that she always, always won. They always saw her point in the end. And they always conceded, usually ungrudgingly.

But in the months since Father's departure, his absence had taken its toll. She now had to deal not only with regular affairs of state, but those of war too.

She spent long hours with foreign ministers, discussing policies pertaining to the war, and there was no one to help her. No one she would allow to help her, anyway.

She was much like Ivy and Abby in that way. No, thank you, but I don't need help. I can do it myself. That's all right, I've got it. Really, it's fine. Your assistance is not required.

Their tact could be measured by age. Mother could turn down help so graciously you almost thought that you had helped her just by asking. Ivy, when she wanted to, could refuse your help so that you felt you weren't being inconvenienced by having to do something for her. Abby usually just told people to back off.

So maybe what was happening to my mother was normal.

But it certainly didn't feel normal. She was snapping at ministers and growing weary of hearing the same things over and over. I was sure she must have felt that way at time in the past before—she was human, after all—but she never, ever let it show.

Charlotte Andrea Nikolav Bartlett was a queen, and she always behaved as such. For two weeks now, however, she'd been acting like… well, I was almost shamed to say it, but like a woman who was about to break under the stress. It worried me. Even if my father couldn't constantly be present, my mother had always been constant in her behaviors, and her inconsistency confused me.

I hoped Sophie's and my visit would not end in disaster.

When we entered, however, I was so shocked at what I found that I nearly choked. I tripped over the hem of my gown, but regained my balanced quickly enough, lifting my chin and walking toward the bed.

My mother was in it.

My mother was in bed.

In the middle of the morning, when there was work to be done, and the sun was fully up, my mother, the queen of Illyria, was in bed.

Her hair, loosely braided the night before, now hung in disarray around her shoulders, and I was shocked at the dark circles under her eyes. She had a smile ready for us, the warm one she wore when we were out from under the kingdom's watchful eyes, when she didn't insist upon decorum. It didn't look the same, though, and didn't warm me the way it usually did. The bright light streaming in from the windows made her appear wan, almost waxy-looking.

I glanced around at the maids, but they moved about the room as though nothing out of the ordinary was going on, as though their queen stayed in bed every morning past ten o'clock. They worked around her, completing what chores they could. They hid their shock well--much better than I did.

Or perhaps they weren't shocked at all. Was this now her regular routine?

Sophie was, not surprisingly, unfazed. "Mama!" she cried, and flung herself onto the bed and into our mother's arms as soon as we entered the room.

I watched Mother carefully, wishing for Abby's critical eyes to assess the situation. But Mama only laughed and returned her baby's embrace. She kissed her on both cheeks and touched her hair and face.

"Hello, darling, how are you?"

"Wonderful," Sophie replied. She seemed to bask in the glow of our mother's affection. "Dinah and me baked this for you." She pointed to the platter that the servant had carried along behind us.

"Dinah and I," I corrected her gently. "You may set it there," I directed the servant, and he did so with a respectful bow of his head, and left.

"Come sit with us, Dinah," my mother directed, with a gentle wave of her hand.

Sophie had already snuggled into Mother's side, pulling her arm around her and leaning against her side. I crossed the room hesitantly, and hovered beside the bed until my mother beckoned me closer. I stood beside the bed, listening to Sophie's idle chatter.

Mother reached out with one hand, without looking away from Sophie, and took my hand, squeezing once. She pulled me toward her, and I realized she wanted me to clamber up onto the bed like my eleven-year old sister.

I almost did it.

Heaven knew I wanted to. I wanted nothing more than to sit on my mother's bed with my baby sister, have her stroke my hair, call me darling, and pretend like I was a little girl, untouched by the world. But I couldn't do it. I'd been conditioning myself too long to maintain my composure in front of my strong, stoic mother, and I couldn't succumb now.

She seemed to understand. "The bread smells wonderful," she said, giving me the opening to go and bring it to them, to show it to her.

"Have you tasted any yet?" Mother asked Sophie, wiping the flour from her nose.

Sophie shook her head. "No, we wanted you to have the first bite, Mama."

I made a little noise.

Sophie made a face in return. "Oh, all right, I had a little. But that was only a test bite. We wanted you to have the first real taste of it. And anyway, my piece was burnt."

Mother laughed softly and took a small chunk of the bread, still steaming with warmth. "It's delicious," she said, after swallowing. "Did you put raisins in it?"

Sophie nodded proudly.

"Thank you, darling, it's wonderful. Wouldn't you like to have a piece?"

Sophie didn't need a second invitation, and she dug in with gusto. Clearly making the bread had only heightened her appetite. Mother offered me some. I shook my head.

With a knowing smile, she waved the platter closer, wafting the tantalizing smell to my nostrils. I relented and took a small piece. It warmed my insides, and I managed a smile, perching on the edge of the bed.

After the bread was gone (courtesy of Sophie, who polished it off with ease), I sat a while longer, studying my mother as my youngest sister's tales of her exploits, punctuated with giggles, filled the room.

She didn't look like a woman at the peak of her health and maturity, as I had always known her. She looked like a woman in decline, slipping into old age, and without grace.

I looked away, heart aching.

"What is it, Dinah?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Nothing." I took one of her cool, white hands in mine and kissed her knuckles. "Nothing, Mama." She sat up straighter and kissed the top of my head. I closed my eyes, letting her scent fill my nostrils.

But she didn't smell like Mama. She smelled like weariness, and I felt even worse.

"I promised Ivy I would help her find a book this morning," I said then, excusing myself.

"Of course. You go on, and Sophie and I will stay here a while longer."

I couldn't tell if she knew how frightened I was by her present condition or not, but I didn't wait around to give her the chance to figure it out. I didn't want her to know that she was scaring me, this weak copy of my mother.

I hurried from the room without a backward glance, but I couldn't dismiss the memory of my mother's tired face for the rest of the day.

By mid-April, no one was allowed to see Mother besides the castle physician, her lady's maids, and my sisters and me.

Ivy and Sophie were her most frequent visitors. Sophie visited just to be with her, and Ivy visited to receive whatever instruction she felt up to giving. She had taken over handling the castle affairs earlier that month, and was trying to keep up appearances as best she could. She met daily with Father's counselors, and spent hours in conference with politicians, senators, dignitaries, and ambassadors, as well as listening to petitions from the gentry and peasant class, as our parents used to do.

She fell into bed utterly exhausted every night, but she rose every morning either with or before the sun, and I never had to worry that she would end up sleeping all day and wandering the castle hallways at night, like Mother had begun to do. Ivy was herself—a more taxed, responsibility-laden young woman than before, certainly, but as determined as ever.

Sometimes she came to Abby and me for help, but Abby more frequently, because she understood the system far better than I did. They stayed awake long hours into the night, heads close together, poring over endless scrolls and discussing policy and politicians in short, often tense, murmurs. I knew that Abby wished she could stand at Ivy's side during the daytime and assist her there, but it was hard enough for a tiny nineteen-year old princess to convince the world she could handle Illyria's affairs for a few weeks. The world would hardly be open to the thought of a thirteen-year old as her most trusted advisor.

"Someday," I assured her, but she usually just shook her dark head in frustration and went back to work. It was a mark of her anger that she never said anything. Abby was rarely so controlled, so her temper must have been raging particularly violently under the surface, if she was afraid of what would come out when she opened her mouth.

We wrote to Papa, begging him for advice.

_Our situation grows more tense daily, _Ivy wrote. _I fear for the monarchy's reputation._

_We are doing the best we can, Papa_, I said, _But I do not think we little princesses are enough to maintain order in Illyria._

Abigail was the most direct: _Send help, or we will destroy ourselves._

We debated amongst ourselves whether or not we should reveal how serious Mother's condition appeared to be, and in the end settled for vague terminology, with very specific requests for aid of any sort.

Then, one day, Mother appeared in the throne room, hair dressed, wearing a stately gown of deep maroon. Abby and I, seated off to the side, alert to any goings on in the room for Ivy's sake, were shocked. We looked at one another wordlessly as Mother relieved Ivy of her duties, smiling and acting as though Ivy had only taken over for the morning, rather than the previous month.

She appeared a bit tired, certainly, but that was the only thing out of the ordinary. There was a bit of quiet and shuffling to move aside as Ivy came to join Abby and me and our mother resumed her place. But the noise level resumed quickly; everyone was glad to have the rightful queen back in her place.

The princess had performed admirably under the circumstances, it was later said, but the girl was hardly equipped to run a kingdom.

Ivy shook her head slightly to silence me when I opened my mouth.

"Later," was all she said, as she took her seat beside me. She sat tall, proud, face impassive, as though we had planned for Mother to reenter public life on that day, and everything was going exactly as we had decided it ought.

After the initial shock wore off, however, I was at first relieved, and then thrilled.

She was back. Finally, my mother had returned to her normal, strong, brilliant, beautiful, vibrant self, and she would find some way to bring Father, Julian, and the rest home, and save us all from ruin.

That was what I thought, at least, until one evening in late May, when disaster struck, and the course of my life was altered forever.


	6. VI

**_Dinah_**

The day it happened was nothing exceptional. Ivy had continued to spend time in the throne room even though Mother had resumed her duties several weeks before. She wanted to be on hand, she told me, in case she was needed. Her expression further told me that what she really meant was that she wanted to keep an eye on Mother, meaning she almost always required Abby to go with her.

In the evenings, they would analyze everything that had happened in the throne room, skipping over things that I would have thought mattered more and spending long hours in the night discussing what I thought were minute details, insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

"And Mother's face when the Murean ambassador suggested withdrawing one of their divisions from the border?"

Abby shook her head. "Nothing. No change whatsoever."

Ivy frowned. "Odd. I would have thought her reaction would have been visible to you, at least."

"It would have," Abby said tightly, brows knit together. "If she'd _had_ a reaction. You know I don't miss things like that, and certainly not on Mother. But she didn't do anything. She didn't flinch, she didn't look away, she didn't move. She didn't even blink. But her expression wasn't so blank that you would think she was trying to hide something. It was almost like…"

"Almost like what?" Ivy asked.

"I'm thinking," Abby said.

"Think faster."

"If you'd be quiet for half an instant I might have a chance to."

"You've had all day to think about what happened. This happened before noon. You've had hours. What was it like?"

"I don't know!" Abby snapped. "But I could figure it out in a far timelier manner if you would just shut your mouth."

"All right, all right, girls," I broke in. At first, I had listened to these conversations just so I would be aware of the things going on in the castle, but after only two nights, I realized that I was needed for a far more productive purpose than my own intellectual enhancement.

In addition to being strong-willed and impossibly stubborn, Ivy and Abby were also proud, impatient, highly analytical, and grew easily frustrated with incompetence, whether they saw it in themselves or others. When they honed these qualities, dominant in both personalities, they made brilliant strategists—Ivy on the battlefield, Abby in the political rings. I was confident that they would, someday, be an unstoppable general and a brilliant ruler, but right now, at only nineteen and thirteen years old, their less than admirable qualities sometimes outshone their wonderful ones.

So, in my unending quest for domestic peace, I became the unofficial mediator during their long evening talks.

"Abby, think about it for a moment and decide how you want to say it. Ivy, tell me again about what Mother _said_ after Ambassador Mohain made his proposal."

Ivy answered automatically, without thinking I'd have any answers or explanation for her. We all knew I didn't have anything positive to contribute to this discussion. Instead of analyzing the ambassadors, the dignitaries, the petitioners, and most of all, our mother, I spent my time in the throne room watching my sisters, and the way people reacted to them. I reported back to them in the evenings, but that was my only real use. That was how I presumed my sisters saw me anyway.

But this was often how I handled things when they lost patience with one another. I gave one time to regain her composure or think through what she wanted say while giving the other an opportunity to sort through her thoughts by speaking them aloud to me. I rarely said anything in return, and prompted them minimally, because I didn't want to limit their thought processes.

When Ivy finished, she stopped talking and looked out the window. I pulled my legs up into my chair and rested my chin on my knees. I stared down at my feet, watching the firelight flicker on my pale toes. I glanced sleepily over at Abby, who was staring into the fire.

Her dark eyes glowed like the embers that illuminated them, and her brows were knit together in a thoughtful frown. The firelight highlighted the freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks, and it occurred to me that she looked very young—much too young to be handling the things she was handling. She looked like a child charged with saving the world, and for a moment, I wanted to hold my little sister in my arms, stroke her hair, tell her everything would be all right. There were lines around her eyes that did not belong, and bags beneath her eyes that should not have to be there, but I knew Abby would never allow me to comfort her. Instead, I hugged my knees more tightly, and closed my eyes.

Just as I was beginning to drift to sleep, Abby spoke.

"It was as if she wasn't even there," she said softly, as it dawned on her. She sat up. "That's it. That's what I keep seeing. She's present in body, but not in mind."

Ivy's frown matched Abby's. "Are you sure?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Abby said. "Mother's keeping up appearances, but the whole time her mind is working on something else. She nods at all the right moments and smiles and frowns and shakes her head just as she's expected to, but, no matter how small, there is a part of her mind working on something else entirely unrelated to matters in the throne room."

Ivy rose and began to pace. Both hands on her hips, she took long, easy strides, stretching her legs after sitting for so long. When she stopped she faced Abby and me, hands still on her hips. "What are we going to do?" she asked.

I hid my face.

"I don't know yet," Abby said. "I just need more time."

"Time," Ivy replied. "May be the last thing we have."

_**Ivy**_

Mother sent for us the next day. The summons itself was not unusual, since a queen would never disgrace her dignity by searching high and low for us, but the manner in which we were summoned was very strange indeed.

"Come alone?" Abby repeated as the four of us began the trek down to the beach.

"That's what he said." I was just as surprised as she was. Why had Mother been so careful to convey that we come alone? There was a strange sense of urgency in her summons, an unusual specificity that put me ill at ease.

Sophie had already taken off her shoes and given them to Dinah to carry, and she skipped and bounced ahead of us, occasionally stopping to pluck a handful of grass to throw into the air above her head.

Beside me, Dinah laughed softly.

I glanced at her. "What?"

"She's playing peasant again," she said.

Abby rolled her eyes. "Some shock. Humans are naturally dissatisfied. Or at least curious, in some regard or another. It really isn't any wonder that most children pretend to be royalty, but an Illyrian princess pretends to be a filthy peasant."

"Her feet must be freezing," I said, watching her flit around the small, white rocks that were partially imbedded in the dirt walkway down to the beach.

"I don't think she notices," Dinah said, smiling as she watched our sister twirl and frolic ahead of us.

Abby changed the subject abruptly. "Mother should be resting," she said.

"She's done much better these last few days," Dinah said.

"Regardless," Abby said. "This whole situation is very odd."

"It is," I agreed.

"She never used to ask to see us alone," Abby continued. "It just happened naturally. Why is it suddenly so urgent for us to be with her and no one else?

"These last months have been hard," Dinah reasoned. "She might want to apologize for not being herself for so long. You know the standard she holds herself to."

Sophie had fallen back long enough to hear the end of the conversation, and now wore a childish scowl. "Well, I wish you'd all stop going on about it and just let us enjoy our time with her. It's hard enough on Mama with Papa being gone. Maybe if we spend some time with her—just us—we'll help her get back to being herself." She looked considerably cheered at the thought. The spring returned to her step.

"Something just isn't right," Abby said. "I'm telling you, we shouldn't go. I just have this feeling that this isn't right. Mother's not right."

Dinah and Sophie looked more than prepared to argue with her, but I interfered before the three of them could get into it. "Never mind, Abby," I said.

"You really can be a hopeless pessimist when you want to be," Dinah said, looking irritated.

"Ivy—" she protested.

"That's _enough_, Abby," I said.

"This is a bad idea," she insisted.

"Well, good or bad, we're going," I snapped.

"But—"

"And that's the end of it!"

Abby sulked the rest of the way down to the beach.

Dinah held Sophie's hand. I watched the two of them together. Dinah seemed to take comfort in our baby's warmth and flushed cheeks. Even after going without seeing her father for weeks, all the while dealing with angry, sullen sisters and a mother in retreat for the first time, Sophie still maintained her sweet smile and irrepressible curiosity. And as annoying as she could be, I couldn't help but admire her.

She hummed and she and Dinah swung their clasped hands back and forth. The wind stirred Dinah's hair, and I saw her smile, like all the pent-up tension was flowing out of her, left behind on the rocky path down to the beach.

Mother waited for us alone on the shore.

The breeze, which was surprisingly warm for this time in March, had mussed her habitually neat coif. She smiled when she saw us, and there was a distinct lack of rigidity in her shoulders and stance.

She greeted us warmly, with long hugs and kisses on our cheeks and foreheads. I tried to study her more closely, but she pulled away too quickly when our embrace ended.

For some time we walked together, talking about nothing in particular, but I couldn't relax. Whatever tension Dinah, Sophie, and Mother had shed I seemed to have picked up, and I couldn't dismiss it, no matter how I tried. The sun was beginning to set, and Dinah insisted that Sophie put her shoes back on as the temperature began to drop. She did so with a great deal of showy complaining about the sand on her feet. Dinah didn't seem very impressed.

"My toes are hot," Sophie whined.

Mother and Dinah burst out laughing. Abby and I exchanged a glance. Something about this wasn't right.

Once her shoes were back on and the sand dusted from the back of her gown, we continued on our way, only to be stopped moments later.

Mother suddenly dropped to her knees and embraced Sophie tightly. "Oh, my sweet, sweet baby girl," she whispered.

My muscles tightened. Abby's eyes narrowed, and Dinah bit down on her lower lip.

Mother took a deep breath and kissed Sophie on both cheeks, looking up into her eyes a moment longer before she rose and stroked her head, then turned to Abby, who took a half-step backward.

Mother hugged her tightly too, and I watched Abby's bewildered face over our mother's shoulder. When she released her, Abby moved away as Mother turned to Dinah and enveloped her in an equally constricting embrace.

Dinah returned the hug with less reservation than Abby, closing her eyes in the seconds before Mother released her with a kiss to her forehead. "Darling Dinah," she said before drawing back.

When she put her arms around me, I was surprised at her strength. I had thought she'd been frail from all those weeks she'd spent in self-confinement to her bed, but her back beneath my hands was strong and straight, and her arms felt almost wiry, rather than soft.

She stepped back to look at us all, holding onto mine and Sophie's hands.

"I love you so much, my beautiful girls," she said, very softly. It was difficult to hear her over the waves breaking on the shore. "I will miss you very much."

"What are you talking about, Mama?" Sophie asked, frowning.

"You're too good to stay here, my sweet Sophie. This world isn't good enough for you. It's a terrible place, full of deception and pain. It is time for you—for all of you—to return to God. He can care for you better than I."

Dinah, frowning, took a step closer to Sophie. "Mother?"

My heart was racing and the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach intensified.

Then the queen of Illyria smiled, a slow curve of her lips, and for the first time in my life, I was afraid of my mother.

"Goodbye, my angels," she whispered. She raised her hand into the air and three burly guards rushed out from behind the rocks and seized Abby, Dinah, and me from behind.

Before the fourth took hold of Sophie, Abby, kicking and fighting, screamed, "_Run, Sophie, run now!_"

My feet were dangling far above the ground as I slammed my head backward into the guard's face, and he dropped me, stumbling away, hands clutching his bloody nose. I fell hard and scrambled to my feet, racing after the guard who held Dinah. She was flailing around, trying to bite him on the arm, her screams muffled by his meaty hand.

I kicked him, hard, in the back of the knee, and he went down. Dragging Dinah to her feet, we set off for Abby, who had jabbed her captor in the eyes repeatedly. He still maintained his tight grip on her as he stumbled around the sand, his eyes shut tight. Abby elbowed him in the face with a feral scream as Dinah kicked his shin, and when he doubled over, I sent my knee flying into his abdomen. He dropped Abby.

I could hear Sophie's screams fading into the distance as she ran, and turning, saw Mother pursuing her. She was gaining. We set off, trying to put distance between us and the three burly guards behind us, and then we saw it—the glint of steel in our mother's hand.

"_No!"_ Dinah screamed, running faster.

Abby and I matched her pace. I was right behind Mother. I reached out, tried to grab her gown. Missed. Reached again.

Mother raised the dagger, stabbed at Sophie.

Fear and fury burst within me, and, with a final burst of energy, I caught the back of my mother's dress. I yanked as hard as I could, jerking her to the ground. She fell in the sand, but we didn't stop.

We sprinted up the hill to the castle, but seeing the guards at the entrance, made for the woods instead. At the edge of the forest, where sand met soil and undergrowth, Dinah turned and slowed, but Abby grabbed her hand and jerked her forward. "Don't stop," she growled.

We ran. My lungs began to burn. We didn't slow down.

"I can't breathe," Sophie gasped. Dinah paused long enough to pull her onto her back and our three sets of feet pounded through the wood, past the outskirts of the nearest village, where we finally sank down to the ground, red-faced, dragging in what felt like meager amounts of air.

Sophie was sobbing. Dinah, too, was crying, and wrapped her arms around our youngest sister.

"Shhh. Soph—Sophie…" Dinah gasped ineffectually. "Shhh," she said, her attempt at comfort broken by her own weeping.

She dropped her head, shoulders shaking, holding tightly to Sophie, rocking her back and forth.

Abby's face was bright red from exertion. She hugged her legs to her chest, resting her chin on top of her knees, dark eyes wide. Her hair stuck out at irregular intervals from her head, and as I watched her, I realized that she was crying, the tears leaking from her eyes.

Sophie began to cough from crying too hard.

Dinah tried to calm her down, but she was beyond consolation in that moment. "What are we going to do?" she sobbed. "Ivy, please, what are we going to do?"

I wanted to have the answer.

I wanted to tell her not to fret, to stop crying, her tears were worthless at this time, to show a little spine in the face of adversity. But the fact remained that our mother had just tried to kill us, and I was breathless and nauseated and shaky, leftover adrenaline still coursing through me.

Our father was miles away, with no way of helping us. We couldn't go back to the castle, but where else was there to go? We had nothing with us but the dresses on our backs, the pins in our hair, and the slippers on our feet. And worst of all, I had absolutely no idea how I was going to keep my sisters safe.


	7. VII

_**Sophie**_

I clung to Dinah like a drowning person would cling to anything that could float. I was so scared. Had that really just happened? Had I just imagined it?

Looking around, I saw that we were hidden away beneath a large, overgrown tree. Behind us was a roughly assembled wooden fence, and I was glad that Dinah was leaning against it and not me, because it appeared to be fraught with splinters.

I was trying to calm down—I really was—but each time my heart began to slow down, I remembered what happened and suddenly it started pounding even faster and I would cry even harder.

It started to rain.

I cried harder.

"Oh, oh, my gown—it's ruined!" I sobbed. "Of all the despicable things!" I scrambled away from Dinah. "Let me up, let me up!" I cried. "My gown—oh, my gown is completely destroyed!"

Abby stared at me in disbelief. "You have _got_ to be kidding me," she said.

I could tell she was crying, but I couldn't hear it in her voice, and she didn't sound upset at all, just mad.

"No!" I cried. "Look! Dinah, look at it!"

"Sit still," Abby said. "A few grass stains are hardly going to make a difference if the gown is already ruined."

"Dinah!" I whined.

She wiped her eyes, her face very red. "Please stop crying, Sophie," she said, voice shaky. "You're not making this any better."

Suddenly Ivy grabbed my arm and jerked me back to the ground, covering my mouth and holding me very tightly. "Hush, all of you!" she whispered urgently.

"What is it?" Abby asked.

Ivy shook her head. "_I hear something_," she whispered, so softly she was nearly mouthing it.

I listened, but all I could hear was the rain and my heartbeat and our breath, still coming unevenly.

"Dinah…" I whimpered.

"Shh," she said, head up, eyes wide, straining to hear.

We sat perfectly still for a long time. The wind moved the leaves on the tree and rain began to fall on my face, but when I tried to adjust my position, Ivy pinched my arm to tell me to hold still. Wincing in discomfort, I sat still as long as I could. When I began to wiggle, Ivy tightened her hold on me. I opened my mouth to tell her she was hurting me, but another pinch on my arm shut me up quickly. I felt myself start to cry again.

Finally Ivy loosened her hold on me and sighed. "I think he's run past us."

"What about the other one?" Abby asked. "The hairy gorilla?"

Ivy shook her head. "He never reached the woods."

"_OW!" _I grabbed my cheek.

My sisters turned on me at once. "_SHHH!"_

"Well I'm sorry, but an acorn just hit me in the face!" My voice cracked.

Ivy looked relieved. "You'll live," she said dryly.

"Though I doubt it will improve your looks," Abby added.

"_Di-nah!_" I cried.

"Stop it, all of you," she said. "Sophie, come sit with me. Abby, don't touch her."

Abby scowled and withdrew her hand. I stuck my tongue out at her. Just because Ivy had gotten away with abusing me a moment before didn't mean that she was going to get to too.

I settled into the crook of Dinah's arm. She was all wet, but I was too, so I tried not to think about how soggy I felt as I rested my head on her shoulder. "I want to go home…"

"I know, darling… shhh…" She stroked my head, and rain trickled down my neck.

"I want to go home," I said again.

"But we can't, so don't even ask," Abby snapped. "We're all we have now, and we have to figure something out." She frowned at me, then looked away. "Are we safe here?" she asked Ivy.

She looked around, peering around the branches that surrounded us. She gave our position a thorough going-over before she answered. "I think so, at least for now. We obviously can't stay the night under this tree—we'd be spotted in the morning—but since it's almost dark anyway, we can wait for the guard to pass back by."

"What if he sees us?" Dinah asked timidly.

Ivy shook her head, looked around. "I don't think he can." She pointed. "See the way the foliage looks from the other side? I'm surprised we found this place at all."

"Are we going to have to run again?" Dinah asked, looking tired at the thought.

"No, Sophie can just whine the guard to death," Abby said.

"Leave me alone!" The indignity of it all!

"If you don't stop acting like an infant then we're going to have to find you a wet nurse," Abby continued.

"I hate you, Abby!" I cried, and as soon as the last word left my mouth, Ivy stood and jerked me up by the arm, pulling my face very close to hers. "_Never, _under _any_ circumstances, are you to say that again." Her teeth were gritted.

I struggled. "Ow, ow, Ivy—Ivy, let go! You're hurting me!"

She squeezed my arm harder, giving me a good shake. "Do you understand me?"

I didn't have to force the tears this time, the ones I sometimes used so Dinah would stand up for me. "Stop it! Dinah, make her stop!"

But Dinah didn't come to my defense, and Ivy didn't stop. She tightened her grip one more time, and shook me again; we were practically nose-to-nose.

"_Do you understand_?" she ground out.

"Yes," I gasped, and she let go. I clutched my arm, sniffling, shocked at how much it hurt. I hadn't realized how terribly masculine all her military training had made my sister.

"Now you listen to me, and listen well," Ivy said, now addressing all three of us. "I don't understand what happened today. We may never understand. But I do know that our mother tried to kill us today,"—Dinah covered her mouth, looking horrified that someone had finally said it aloud—"And unless the four of us find some way to take care of ourselves and get word to Father, she's going to succeed."

Dinah dropped her hand from her mouth self-consciously, clasping her hands together in the lap of her soaked dress. "Do you think she'll try again?"

I looked at Ivy, who hesitated. _Say no_, I thought. _Say that we're wrong, that that's not what really happened today. Say anything but yes._

"She's given us no reason to think otherwise," Ivy finally said.

Dinah's fingers closed around her gown, shoulders tense. "Oh, God," she murmured, looking down at the ground.

There was another silence. Then Abby spoke up, voice hard. "What are we going to do?"

Ivy put her hands on her hips, looking around. "I don't know," she said, shaking her head. She looked down at Abby. "You've spent more time with the maps of the neighboring territories than I have." Her face looked pinched. Was she still mad that Papa hadn't taken her with him to the Paduan border? Even now? Even after what just happened? "What's close?" she asked.

"The castle," Abby said with a straight face.

"Don't be flippant," Ivy snapped. "I'm asking you a serious question."

This time Abby considered it before speaking. I sat down beside Dinah, who wrapped her arm around my shoulder and patted my arm. I rested my head on her shoulder.

"Close, but not too close. Correct? How long should it take us to get there?"

"A few days, I should think."

I gasped and jerked upright. "A few _days_? On_ foot_?"

"No, on magic carpet," Abby said.

"Hush, Sophie," Dinah said softly. I scowled and laid my head back down.

"Well?" Ivy prompted.

"I'm thinking," Abby said.

"Think faster. The rain's letting up."

"No it's not, you're just getting used to it."

I wasn't getting used to it. Despite our being huddled beneath the tree, drops of rain still managed to find their way onto my face and hair. Ivy didn't look too pleased, though, and crossed her arms over her chest, looking down at Abby like she sometimes did the new recruits who came to train at the castle. "Sitting here isn't bringing us any closer to our destination."

"Which we still haven't chosen."

"We're waiting on you."

"Girls…" Dinah broke in.

Abby shook her head, telling her that her interference wasn't needed. I didn't like it when she acted like Dinah was younger than her or something. Dinah was sixteen, nearly a woman! Abby was only thirteen, and she hadn't even begun to have her monthly yet.

"The best place that comes to mind is Dowdren," Abby said, but Ivy was already shaking her head, ruling it out.

"No, no that won't do. The school is too well-known."

"Precisely. Mother, in her current state of psychosis, would never suspect. Though, plotting to kill your children doesn't suggest diminished intellect…"

"Sophie, please stop crying," Dinah said.

"I can't help it," I said pitifully.

Dinah shot me a look of warning, but then turned it on Abby. "Remember to whom you are speaking," she said.

Abby looked only mildly repentant. "We might have to split up," she said.

"_No_."

We all looked at Dinah in surprise. Usually she didn't make decisions so quickly, and never so unequivocally.

"Reasons, please," Ivy said.

"We are _not_ splitting up," Dinah said.

Ivy was agreeing with Dinah so far. I didn't really see why we should have to split. What was the point?

"I don't know…" Ivy shook her head. "I don't know if that's wise."

"Think about it," Abby began. "If we—"

"No," Dinah interrupted. "We can't split up. Ivy, you were right when you said we were all we had. We cannot separate.

But now Ivy had changed her mind, and looked sympathetically at Dinah. "She's right."

"_What?_" Dinah demanded. "Have you lost your mind?"

"We'd be recognized," Ivy explained. "Dowdren is far enough away that our likenesses would not be easy to recognize unless we were all together. The portraits that have been seen by the kingdom are only of us all together, and the last one that was made was nearly two years ago, when Sophie was missing teeth."

Oh, good, they were talking about me. I perked up. "I have a loose tooth!" I wiggled it with my tongue.

Abby glared at me. "Don't interrupt."

"But I do! See?" I opened my mouth wide.

"Would you like me to help you remove it?" She reached over and tried to grab my mouth.

I slapped at her hands and scrambled back. "No—get away from me! Dinah! Ivy!"

Ivy looked unfazed, and even Dinah hardly reacted. She just gave Abby one of her severe, Mother-like looks and said, "You're not making this any easier, Abigail."

The use of her full name shut Abby up pretty quickly.

"What else is Dowdren known for, besides the ludus?" Ivy asked.

"Bookbinding and printing presses," Abby answered, glaring at me before looking away. My shoulders slumped. She could make such horribly mean faces when she wanted to!

Dinah sighed, and looked resigned. "Well, I have always wanted to go there," she said.

"You're about to get your wish," Ivy said grimly.

"But, Ivy, really—are you sure—really, really, absolutely, unquestionably certain—that we need to separate?" This seemed to be Dinah's way of begging her to change her mind, but it didn't look like she was going to back down.

"I see no way around it," Ivy said.

"Unless you want to shave your head like a new widow," Abby said, with a more light-hearted tone than any of us had yet used. "I think that would be very attractive."

Dinah, who usually laughed at Abby's comments, didn't even smile.

Ivy, though, took Abby's suggestion seriously. "She wouldn't be able to maintain the façade, but I do think you're onto something."

Abby raised one brow. "I was kidding."

"I know," Ivy said. "But consider this. We clearly cannot announce to the inhabitants of Dowdren that we are the crown princesses of Illyria, but maybe, by separating, and by assuming false names and identities, we might be able to wait there until we can send word to Father."

I wasn't really sure what they were talking about anymore. I was tired and wet and a little cold, and didn't want to think anymore. I just wanted to dry off and fall asleep in my bed, with all my stuffed animals, and at least one of my sisters in my bed with me.

"Oh, that would do a lot of good," Abby was saying. "I'm sure he'll just race away from the Paduan border and leave orders that a welcome party should be thrown in honor of the barbarian invasion."

"I never said that Father himself would come," Ivy said, frowning.

"Who would he send?" Abby demanded.

"It doesn't matter," Dinah broke in. "If Papa sends them, then they will help us."

"Mother's guards were very helpful today," Abby said harshly.

"Abby, please," Dinah said, shaking her head.

My eyes grew heavy.

Ivy sighed softly, raising her eyes upward. "Rain's letting up."

"Little bit," Abby agreed.

"We should find some place to sleep," Dinah said. "Sophie's about to pass out."

"Am not," I protested.

"You shouldn't have carried her, Dinah, she would have fallen asleep sooner," Abby said.

I closed my eyes. "Stop being mean to me, Abby…" I was too tired to really argue with her.

Ivy was talking again. Why did they all keep talking so much? I just wanted to sleep…

"Let's walk for a bit and see what we can find. If nothing better presents itself, we'll sleep here."

I felt Dinah nod. "All right. Sophie…" She shifted, and I moaned and scooted closer.

"Don't get up, Dinah…" I whined.

"Come on, darling. Sophie, come on. Stand up."

"Did you see that yawn?" Sophie asked. "Her mouth was wider than that ridiculous stuffed hippopotamus she has."

"She's not ridiculous," I protested as Dinah pulled me to my feet. "And her name is…" I yawned. "Delilah."

After only walking for a few minutes, Dinah pulled me onto her back with a grunt.

"Ohh Dinah, I love you," I moaned. "You're so pretty, and your hair doesn't stink too badly right now, even though we've been sitting in mud for hours and hours…"

"Shh, Sophie," Dinah said.

"Great. Now she's delirious on top of everything else," I heard Abby say. I didn't bother to lift my head off Dinah's back, only nestled my cheek against her wet curls. The bottoms of my feet tingled, and I tightened my grip on Dinah's neck and sighed, feeling myself drift to sleep.

"Follow me, girls," Ivy said. "I think I've found something."

_**Ivy**_

Dinah once told me a story about an old man who lived deep in the forest near the castle and cobbled the most perfect shoes you'd ever seen in your life. I dismissed it as nothing more than another one of her made up tales, but as darkness fell that day, I saw that she hadn't made it up after all.

We stumbled through the door, Dinah with the most effort; when Sophie fell asleep and began to relax, she seemed to find enough extra weight that it made her nearly impossible to move.

"Drop her here," Abby suggested, pointing to an old worktable.

"I think not," Dinah said, managing a measure of severity, even though she looked exhausted. She leaned back, clumsily lowered Sophie to her feet, then, quickly turning around, laid her down on a narrow canvas cot in the corner of the cottage.

"Did you know this was here?"

Dinah smoothed Sophie's hair out of her face and turned around. "Yes. I just didn't realize where we were. But as soon as I saw it I knew what it was."

"Will the old man you told me about come back?" The last thing we needed was some crazed old hermit running us out of his house.

"No," Dinah said softly. "He died about a year ago."

"Did he leave anything useful behind?" Abby asked. She had already begun to pull open the drawers of a bureau, and finding nothing of worth inside, started on the cabinets nearby.

"How should I know?" Dinah snapped. "I was his friend, not his accountant."

"Fine, don't help me," Abby said airily. "I'll just do it all myself."

"Oh, sit down, Abigail," I said. She was irritating me too. "If you'd bothered to look around when we arrived you would have seen that there was a garden growing up around a well on the side of the house."

"Really?"

"I had forgotten about that," Dinah said in that same soft voice. "He always grew the vegetables close to the well so he wouldn't have to haul the water very far. He told me once that if he only had a few more hours in every day he would have his irrigation system finished in a week." She smiled a little. "He must have been nearly ninety years old."

"There are vegetables over there?" I asked, intrigued.

"There used to be," Dinah replied. "I should think that at least some of them came back this year. There are also a few apple trees on the opposite side of the house, so even if we don't find anything else we can have those in the morning." She hugged her arms to her chest and glanced over at Sophie, was snoring softly in the corner. "Do you think I should get her out of that wet gown?"

I shook my head. "No. It might not be comfortable, but it's not cold enough to worry about her catching something."

Abby closed two of the cabinets. "Besides, it usually takes at least four people to move her if she falls asleep at random, so clearly we three are not going to suffice."

Dinah and I shot her matching looks of disapproval, but she ignored them. "Well, you two do what you like, but I'm not going to wake up in a damp gown." She reached behind her and tugged at her laces until she could slip the gown over her head. Shaking it out, she hung it near the unlit fireplace.

Dinah shifted uncomfortably, plucking at the gown where it clung to her stomach. "That's not a bad idea…"

"Oh, go on," I said, waving my hand at her. "If you want to take yours off too, just do it."

Dinah looked relieved as she cocked her wrist behind her back and released her stays. She sighed as the gown loosened, and soon she was able to slip it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Shaking it more carefully than Abby had, she laid it beside Abby's gown, brushing away a leaf that had been stuck to the bottom hem.

"Is there a bed here?" Abby asked without looking up, squeezing the water out of her sleeveless ivory under dress with both hands.

"Through there." Dinah was holding up her thick hair, made even heavier by its dampness, and gestured vaguely with her other hand.

Abby hurried over, clearly hoping to stake out a prime sleeping spot for herself. I waited until she was in the room and heard a rustling noise before saying, "Check for bugs."

The corners of my mouth quirked upward when I heard her flop down onto the bed, and I repeated, more loudly, "Check for bugs before you lie down."

"_Bugs?_" Abby's voice had gone slightly shrill. I could hear her scrambling to get off the bed.

I glanced over at Dinah, who was pulling the remaining pins from her hair, laying them carefully on the mantel of the fireplace. "You're terrible," she said, but I caught the glimmer of amusement in her eyes and only shrugged in response.

Hearing a creak from behind us, we both turned to find Abby standing in the doorway of the bedroom. There was a piece of hay in her hair. "I opened the mattress," she said.

"Whatever for?" Dinah asked blankly.

"To check for bugs."

Dinah began to laugh.

"Oh, stop it," Abby said irritably. "It isn't as if I ever needed to know how to check a bed for vermin before."

"Well now is a wonderful time to learn," I said over Dinah's laughing.

"Fine," she said, turning on her heel and moving out of sight. "I'll wait."

Once Dinah's mirth had faded, I looked at her with an inquiring raise of my brows. "Any better?"

Dinah considered this for a moment. "Yes," she said finally. "I think so."

Sophie was lying on her back on the cot, one arm flung over her head, the other dangling off the cot onto the floor. Her lips were parted, and she snored without pattern, her chest rising and falling irregularly. Her brows were furrowed, as though concentrating very hard, and her fingers twitched, brushing the dirty floor of the cottage.

Dinah paused beside her to rearrange her arms and urge her to roll over.

"She sleeps better on her side," she said, but her words were so soft that I was unsure whether they were for my benefit or not.

Dinah undid the back of her dress and loosened it. Combing her damp hair from her face, Dinah leaned down and kissed Sophie on the forehead before withdrawing into the bedroom. She paused on the threshold.

"I'll make sure Abby doesn't take up all the space," she told me, with a hint of a smile.

I nodded in acknowledgement. Once I heard the two of them settle down, I sat down in the middle of the floor, mindless of the dirt clinging to my already muddied gown.

I pulled my knees up to my chest, and rested my chin on top of them. With a slow, heavy sigh, I felt my muscles begin to relax. I didn't doubt that Dinah would ensure we all received an equal portion of the bed, but rather than go and claim my place, I spent the night sitting up, staring into the black fireplace, watching the shapes the moonlight made as it slipped through the uncovered panes of the window and rested on the floor.


	8. VIII

**_Abby_**

It was still dark when Ivy shook me awake. "Let's go," she said. "We're losing daylight."

"How," I asked, rolling over onto my back, "can we lose daylight if there isn't any daylight to lose?"

"Just get up, Abigail," Dinah said, her voice thick with sleep. She stumbled from our bed into the main room, where I could hear her try to rouse Sophie from her stupor.

"Come on, darling, it's time to get up."

Sophie's response was a strange combination of a roar, a whine, and a grunt.

"Let's go. Ivy says it's time to go."

I sat up, leaning back on my hands and looking at Ivy. "Nice to have at least one drone in your ranks, isn't it?"

Ivy glared at me. "Just get up. We have a lot to do today."

Our gowns were still damp. I pulled mine over my head, fighting a shiver when the cool fabric molded to my skin. Dinah secured the laces with surprisingly nimble fingers, then moved onto Ivy's. As soon as Dinah left the room, an argument broke out between Sophie and Ivy about the hair ribbon that had mysteriously disappeared from Sophie's braids, but before it could turn nasty, Dinah reappeared carrying apples in the front of her gown.

"Eat." She handed us each an apple. Her tone brooked no argument.

Ivy, Sophie, and I sat on a crudely-made bench and munched on our apples while Dinah wound Ivy's hair into a knot at the base of her neck and secured mine in a single braid down my back. We'd each begun our second apple when Sophie decided that she wanted three braids instead of two.

We all saw Ivy's countenance darken, but Dinah interfered before the oldest and youngest could resume their quarrel.

"It's fine, Ivy," Dinah assured her. "It won't take any time at all. Sit still, Sophie."

While we waited for Dinah to finish braiding Sophie's hair, Ivy and I filled a canvas bag we'd found with apples out in the small orchard beside the house. The morning was still misty when we set off.

Sophie skipped ahead, and I watched her three braids bounce up and down on her back.

"She looks absurd," Ivy said.

Dinah was carrying an apple in her teeth as she pinned a final stray curl out of her face, and only shrugged in response before crunching into her breakfast.

"She usually does," I said mildly.

We let her stay a few feet ahead of us for the first twenty minutes that we walked, but once she began to sing, Ivy called her back.

Sophie pouted and began to shuffle alongside Dinah.

"What if she sang quietly?" Dinah asked in appeal to Ivy.

"What if she didn't sing at all?" I asked, irritated with her airy, undeveloped voice.

"We're still too close to the palace," Ivy said pointedly, and Dinah let the matter drop.

"Here, have another apple, darling." Dinah tossed one to Sophie, and she munched happily upon the distraction. We walked in silence for a few minutes, gravel crunching beneath our feet and apple crunching beneath Sophie's teeth, before she began to hum.

I pinched her arm.

"_Ow! Di-nah! _Abby pinched me!" Her face contracted, and it was clear she was trying to work up some tears.

Dinah glanced quickly at Ivy, evaluating her level of irritation with Sophie and me, then settled for a look of appeal and a soft, "Girls. Please."

I rolled my eyes but left Sophie alone. Though her chomping really was quite repulsive.

**_Ivy_**

"I think we should choose our own names," Dinah said. "They'll be easier to remember that way."

"Not all of us try to forget things just because we don't like them."

"Hush, Abby," I said. Dinah had grown more adept at hiding it when something hurt her feelings, but I saw it now on her face as she blinked and looked away.

It was now midmorning, and the day had grown warmer as the sun made the ascent to its zenith. The forest seemed louder than the grounds around the castle walls did at this same time of day.

"I want our fake names to start with the same letter as our real names," Sophie announced, her trio of braids bouncing on her back as she walked.

"Fine," I conceded. "Just choose."

"You first," she said, beginning to skip. A bluebird flitted past, and Sophie waved to it.

"Idolatry," Abby suggested.

"What kind of a name is that?" Sophie wrinkled up her nose.

"It isn't," I said.

"Ilona," Sophie said.

"Indemnity," said Abby.

"Ida."

"Ida what?" Abby said, making a face before continuing on with her absurd suggestions. "Inure."

"Ingrid," Sophie said.

"Inexact."

"Ianna."

"Incoherent."

"Imogene."

"Don't you have a doll named Imogene? Indolent."

"Yes—it's a beautiful name!"

Abby's eyes gleamed. "How about Inconspicuous?"

Dinah burst out laughing, and Abby looked pleased with herself. "See? A perfect fit that will allow you to blend it easily."

Sophie didn't seem to understand the joke. "I think Ivy's new name should be Iris," she said.

"No," I said firmly, shaking my head.

"Why not?" Sophie asked, pouting.

I hesitated. "It's too… _pretty_."

"You say that with such distaste," Dinah teased.

"I think it fits," Abby said, and this time she wasn't making fun.

"I do too," Dinah agreed.

I hated it when Dinah looked at me like that. She was so good and sweet that I felt like a brute in comparison, despite the difference in our height. I let her have her way. "Fine, I don't care. I'm Iris. Who's next?"

"Me!" Sophie sang. "I want to be Wilma."

There was dead silence.

"Wilma?" Dinah repeated. "That… doesn't start with an S."

"I think it's a _lovely_ name." Sophie pouted.

"Wilma?" Abby repeated. "Honestly?"

Dinah began laughing again.

Sophie looked at us all with wide eyes. "_What_?"

Dinah laughed harder.

"It's not funny!" Sophie said, rounding on Dinah, who only put her arm around Sophie's shoulders and laughed harder, using her for support. "Stop it," Sophie said, pouting and pushing Dinah away.

"Forget Wilma," I said over Dinah's giggles. "If I have to be Iris, then you have to pick something that begins with an S."

"Oh fine," Sophie huffed, scowling and kicking the ground. The act ordinarily would have sent dust flying, but since it had rained so hard the day before it only left mud on the toe of her shoe, and Sophie's scowl deepened. "Well, I can't think of any good names," she said.

"Sanctity," Abby said, straight-faced.

Dinah had nearly stopped laughing at that point, but Abby's suggestion sent her into a fresh round of giggles.

"Sanctimonious," Abby continued. "Severe. Savant. Solitude. Silence—oh, that's an _excellent_ name for you, Sophia." She sighed, running a hand over her hair to smooth it (Abby hated the thought of ever looking the least bit ruffled or unkempt). "So many options, yet only one will win out in the end."

"I ha—" Sophie broke off abruptly, looking quickly at me. I returned her gaze with a serious look, and I could have sworn she almost paled. Clearly my instruction yesterday never to use that phrase toward one of her sisters again had not fallen on deaf ears.

"Fine," she said, snapping her head forward and lifting her chin. She gave a hurt little sniffle. "I won't be Wilma. And I don't want any of your stupid names, either!" she snapped at Abby. "I'll be…I'll be…"

"Salacious," Abby said. "_Ow!_"

Dinah withdrew her fingers from Abby's arm, where she'd just pinched her. "Don't," she said, glancing at Sophie, clearly grateful our youngest sister had no idea what the word meant.

"Sara," Sophie said decisively. She clearly had not been paying attention to the interactions of the last few moments. "I'll be Sara."

Dinah, Abby, and I all looked at one another. Dinah studied Sophie momentarily, then nodded. "I think it suits her." She smiled. "It means 'princess.'"

Sophie's face brightened immediately. "It _does_?"

Dinah nodded.

"Good," I broke in briskly. "That will suffice. So, tell me, Susan, where are you from?"

Sophie frowned. "I don't… remember."

Abby rolled her eyes. "Good, because your name's not Susan."

"Oh, right. Sara. My name's Sara."

"Oh, very artful," Abby said. "So natural-sounding. I'm confident no one will suspect a thing."

"All right, all right," Dinah said. "That's enough. We still have plenty of time to practice until it's natural using the false names and giving the false answers. We haven't even decided yet where we'll be from. Shall we all be from the same place, or different ones?"

"Different," Abby and I said at the same time, then glared at one another. Speaking in unison was so cute, and Abby and I both hated to be cute.

The conversation continued much as it had before, with various arguments arising and being ignored, feelings being hurt and healed, ideas tossed up and some snatched up with others quickly thrown aside. We finished choosing names first, because, in my mind, that was the easiest matter to address.

Once Dinah became Davina, and Abby became Abra, however, we had to decide who was going with whom.

I could see that Sophie hoped she'd be paired with Dinah, and while I was inclined to give her what she wanted, something held me back. I tried to imagine the two of them fending for themselves, imagining what sorts of trouble they could fall into and how they would pull themselves out. And, as hard as I tried, I simply could not see them coming out of a scrape successfully. They were both too sweet, both too soft.

Abby and Dinah knew what I was thinking before I said it, but it was to their credit that neither one protested.

"Sophie will go with me," I announced. "And Dinah and Abby will go together."

"That's not fair!" Sophie burst out. "I wanted to be with Dinah!"

Dinah took her hand. "Don't fret, sweet. Ivy's right. This is the best combination. An older girl and a younger."

"But…But why can't I go with _you_? Make Abby go with Ivy. Ivy's so mean to me. She hate—doesn't like me."

"Nonsense," Dinah scoffed. I didn't hear the next few words, but her tone was clear enough: warm and sweet and comforting. I felt a strange sort of ache inside of me. My sister thought I hated her? Was she merely being dramatic, or was there something substantial to her accusation? I felt a deep pang of guilt and regret, but, at a loss for how to cope with it, I simply lifted my chin and walked on.

Behind me, Dinah had adopted a mock whisper. "Ivy and Abby fight far too often to live without the mediators," she said. "They need the two of us with them to keep things from getting out of control. You can do that, can't you? Help Ivy, wherever it is you go?"

"But I wanted to stay with _you_," Sophie moaned. She sounded absolutely pathetic, and I felt my guilt evaporate as a wave of annoyance rushed over me.

"You're going with Ivy," Dinah said, and I was surprised at the firmness of her tone. I glanced at her over my shoulder, but she was too absorbed watching Sophie to notice. "And it will be more than fine."

Her features were soft, not at all tense, but her eyes were bright, and I hoped she wouldn't cry. Tears at that moment would have likely prompted Sophie into hysterics.

Sophie's face crumpled, and her chin wobbled, but she didn't cry. Beside me, Abby gave an exasperated sort of sigh.

"That's settled, then," she said. "Now how are we going to disguise ourselves?"

That night, in an old barn near a field of abandoned corn, we discovered a pair of scissors and set to work.

Long hair was a luxury that few could afford. Because we were all unmarried, my sisters and I had to either wear our hair down or low on our head. Only married women were permitted to wear their hair piled on the tops of their heads. But commoners, even married women, rarely did anything to their hair other than cover it up.

I was the only one wearing a dark underskirt, so we used it, and cut the fabric into large, messy triangles. Dinah apologized repeatedly, insisting that we should use hers instead, but I refused. I was actually pleased to be rid of the thing.

Headwear prepared, I laid the four scraps aside and turned to examine Dinah's hair. I lifted one of her thick, dark curls, and Sophie whimpered.

I opened my mouth to chastise her, but Dinah spoke before I was able to. "None of that," she said. Her eyes were shut tightly, but her voice was firm. She flinched at the sound of the first curl being snipped, but after that she sat rigidly still as curl after curl fell to the floor, and her waist-length hair shrank until it only touched her shoulders.

Dinah's dark curls mingled with the hay scattered on the ground. She squatted and picked one up. She touched it with one finger, then closed her fist around it tightly. Taking in a breath, she straightened, letting the curl fall from her fingers as she did. Without even touching her new haircut, she picked up one of the crudely-made head cover and tied it at the base of her neck.

We were all staring at her. She stared back.

Her dress was too fine, but from the neck up, she was utterly convincing.

Abby broke the silence. "I'll go next."

I handed the scissors over to Dinah, who handled them with ease, in contrast to my awkwardness.

After cutting Abby's hair so it rested on her shoulders, she paused, one hand on her hip. "All the village girls I've seen that are around your age have—"

"No," Abby said.

"Abby."

"I'm not doing it."

"Doing what?" Sophie asked.

"It's not happening," Abby said.

"Getting a fringe," Dinah explained.

"_No_."

If she and Dinah hadn't been so pale, I might have laughed. But there was something unsettling about all that dark hair strewn across the wooden floorboards of the hayloft. The significant physical altering of appearance served as a sobering reminder that our lives had changed in a way none of us could have predicted.

"You have to," Dinah said. "I'm sorry." She sounded sorry, and when she snipped the first piece of hair over Abby's forehead, she and Abby both cringed.

Dinah tied up Abby's hair for her when she was finished, imitating the village girls by leaving the childish fringe to hang on her forehead. Abby's jaw was tight.

She gave Sophie a messy haircut to make it appear as though she'd given it to herself, and I had Dinah cut my hair so short that it curved on the back of my neck, and didn't quite reach my chin.

When we finished, we stood in a circle, looking at one another. Dinah cupped the bulky scissors that had done their work well.

"We have to alter our gowns," she said.

"In the morning," I said. There had been enough snipping for one night.

No one argued. We adjourned to the corner of the hayloft farthest from our discarded hair and curled up in the hay. Dinah sneezed twice.

"I think I'm allergic," she said.

"We'll move," I said.

"No. It's fine." She laid down and covered her head with her arm. Sophie snuggled up beside her, and Dinah uncovered her head long enough to tuck a piece of hair that had fallen onto her forehead behind her ear.

I drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours. Abby woke first, and we shook the other two awake a few minutes later. We sat silently in the hay for another hour, watching the glint of the scissors as Dinah cut into the expensive fabric and tied strips of the dresses together to make them look older.

We slept at irregular hours, so that sometimes we would travel all day and sleep all night, or travel all night and sleep during the day. Once we traveled from long before sunup until only mid afternoon, and slept until the next morning.

We practiced calling one another by our false names, and tested Sophie while she was falling asleep, training her to react correctly even if she was exhausted. I tested Dinah right after I woke her each time, and she got better. I tried everything I could think of to trick Abby, but it was pointless. She might as well have been born with the name Abra.

It didn't seem possible, but we were ready, or as ready as we were ever going to be.

Five days and a lifetime later, the sun was just coming up, and we walked into Dowdren.


End file.
